Vampire Kisses: Starlight
by Alexander-In-Autumn
Summary: Alexander Sterling just wanted to be human. But he got cursed to be a vampire instead. What happens when he starts to fall for a conformative town's local hot Goth girl, Raven? Will he finally feel alive? Or will his heart get staked? Edward Cullen chap.3
1. little Monster

**1: Little Monster**

Why is it true life was never like a fairy tale? Or at the very least ended like one. In Cinderella: girl meets boy, boy falls for girl, they live happily ever after. That's it. The end. Case closed, no questions asked, everyone's happy. It seemed to me that the most realistic ending of all was an Edward Scissorhands remake: girl meets boy, boy falls for girl, and conformist mob chases boy back into his castle.

I could definitely relate to him.

I was weird. There isn't another way to tell you what I was like when I was a little kid besides that. I personally believed that I was normal, and I wasn't going to change my hobbies and personality for anyone. And even though my parents respected me for that, others did not. And thus, I became what they would consider 'weird'.

As if being a vampire wasn't already bad enough!

I was born in Bucharest, Romania. I didn't have an extraordinary entrance to the world, as one might expect from a vampire. It was rather dull, actually, being born in an underground hospital made specifically for my kind. No sunlight; no happiness.

My mother had been in labor for two very long nights. Occasionally she would favor me with detailed descriptions of just how much pain I had put her through, in the future. Detailed descriptions that always forced my appetite away.

When I finally cooperated and decided it was time to make my presence known to the world, my parents debated between baby names. They were going to either name me Alexander; after my grandpa, who had passed away years before my birth, or my great-great-great-great grandpa, Barry. I am thankful they picked the first one; imagine spending eternity with a horrid name like that! I would have been teased loads more if I had had "Barry" as my name!

The years flew by in our beautifully ominous mansion. My grandmother had an identical one, right down to the last cobweb, in America. We occasionally visited her when we had time, which I loved to do. Grandma was one of those old people who you forget their as old as dirt. She had a lively spirit. Just like my hippie parents.

Okay; they weren't what regular humans would consider hippies. We are more or less called "vampire vegetarians", which is a fancy label that is supposed to mean they didn't eat humans for ethical reasons. My parents had a philosophy about not destroying human life. They drank animal blood and ate raw meat for sustenance. And it worked very well, believe it or not.

And aside from the obvious, another weird thing about my family, specifically my mom, was that we owned _mirrors_. My mother loved them, but of course, she couldn't use them, so she tended to collect any mirror she came to pass. We had mirror after mirror locked up in the basement with drapes over them so they wouldn't get dust on them.

So I was raised on a steady diet of fluids that could be purchased from any local butcher, and free spirit. My parents were against the vampire world and were dragging me into their little hippie revolution; my first taste of non-conformity. And I liked it. I also liked the thriving feeling I got when I was hearing Siouxsie and the Banshees, watching Jack Skellington, and staring at a full moon.

My parents had friends of course; just none that were into the vegetarianism thing. They were friends with the Maxwells, a rich and respected family of even weirder people than us.

Everybody in the Maxwell clan had white hair and a malnourished figure. It was like a trait passed on for generations or something. Mr. Maxwell had cropped short white hair, and icy blue eyes that seemed to pierce straight through to your soul. Mrs. Maxwell had long white lochs, metallic green eyes and favored her bat earrings. Both seemed to be suffering from extreme starvation; they were almost as thin as poles!

And their children, Jagger and Luna, were the worst people I had ever had the misfortune to meet. They weren't revolting on the eyes; quite the contrary, as a matter of fact. They were both model children. It was their rotten personalities that got to me.

Luna was alright. She wasn't as bad as her twin brother. I barely saw her, actually. She was the odd man out in their family; she was mortal. It was a grievance of the Maxwells. It had something to do with her great-something or another being a human.

But Jagger was rude, mean and vulgar. I've seen wet cats with a better attitude than him. He was my only friend, and my only enemy.

I'd never forget the moment I realized he couldn't be trusted with my friendship.

I was six when it happened. My mom and dad weren't moving around as much back then. We had gone over to the Maxwell's mansion for a little "get together". All the adults crowded around me and Jagger, pushing us closer together. I was starting to feel claustrophobic.

I stood there, clutching my lucky black paintbrush that Grandma had given me, as if I could use it to ward off the adult's pestering questions. I hoped that everything would just melt away. I was never a very social kid back then, and hated talking to people.

They asked Jagger the first few when it came to them that I was the quiet one, while he talked so much it's a miracle he didn't pierce his tongue with his fangs.

"So, Jagger, what's your favorite color?" My mom asked, cooing over him. I restrained myself from throwing up.

"Black!" He shouted, his voice reverberating off the walls. I cringed and covered my ears, my hearing affected by his loudness. I noticed Mrs. Maxwell mimicking my actions. She turned her electric green eyes on to me.

"And you, Alexander?" She inquired politely.

It took me a few seconds to think up a brilliant response to her answer. "Um . . . black," I whispered shyly. I wasn't comfortable in the spotlight.

"What do you like doing?" She continued.

I smiled for the first time since my arrival there. Finally, we were moving on from the baby questions and on to others that I was happier with! "I like to draw."

Simple answer, right? Apparently, judging by the identical looks of shock they all wore, it wasn't, though. Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell's eyes darted to my parents and then back to me. Mrs. Maxwell recovered the fastest. She twisted her long white hair around her finger.

"What do you want to be when you're older?" She asked.

The smile shifted to an all out grin. All of my prior uncomfortable feelings vanished.

"I want . . ." I started.

"Yes?"

"I want . . ."

"Yes?"

I took a deep breath. "I want to be an artist!" I said breathlessly, passion coursing through my veins.

Everyone ---except my parents--- gave me an incredulous look.

"Freak," I heard Jagger mutter under his breath.

I spent most of my life hearing that word replay itself over and over again.

My dad had acquired a job as an art dealer, working for the humans, in the years I was teething on Scare Bear baby rings. He toured all over the United States, dragging mom and me from Romania with him. I always threw a tantrum about it though, and locked myself in my own coffin when the time to leave was underway. I loved my dear Romania too much to abandon it. I loved every single dust shrouded banister in my house, the broken windows, and the chipped paint.

It was like I was a movie star. A horror movie star, but a movie star nonetheless.

But I will admit that moving had its benefits. If I hadn't moved, I'd have never found my passion.

My dad was able to commission one of his artists to paint us. It took a long time to create. I was getting fidgety like any three year old would by the time he was finished.

Finally, the artist called over to me.

"Hey, kid, come and see," he commanded. After pushing me several times towards him, my mother almost gave up hope of moving her very reluctant son over to the artist. But I wasn't so sure I wanted to be near him. That beard on his face looked like it could swoosh out and eat me at will.

But my curiosity was greater than my self-conservation. I slowly walked over to the wide canvas to observe his work.

I cannot adequately describe the feeling that ran down my system as I stared straight into my own face. If I could see myself in a mirror, would I really look like this? I saw a small, thin, pale boy, with shoulder length, deepest midnight hair and ebony eyes. I looked warm and happy. The artist had captured my mother's smile that suggested something mischievous, and he even caught my father's kind eyes, something I had recently thought impossible to recreate. I looked up at the artist like he was God.

The artist was my inspiration. I drew in a sketch book I carried everywhere. Spiderman, Batman, Superman, Frankenstein, the Werewolf, and Count Dracula graced the earlier pages of my work.

My grandma was also a huge influence on my artistic world. She was a human, a wrinkled version of Luna.

We visited rarely, but she taught me everything I knew. Even how to mix my own paint.

"Good, good, Alexander!" She crowed. "We'll make an artist out of you yet!" She gave me a kiss on the top of my head with her leathery, pink lips, holding my drawing of the Mansion, a huge Gothedelic place in a small, conformity indulged town that I had dubbed Dullsville the moment I had arrived. It was no wonder that by the time she died, Grandma had gone nearly insane.

As bizarre as she looked ---like a human prune with a cloud of curly gray hair, slightly blind blue eyes and a hunched back complete with unlimited wrinkles--- I thought she was the most beautiful human I had ever seen. Maybe because she understood me.

It hit me hard when she died. I felt like a part of my soul had died along with her. But still, I tried my best to fit in with the other kids. In other words, Jagger.

The adults gradually traded in their conspicuous individuality for flowered or vibrantly colored business suits. I seriously thought that they were going to change us next. No way was I going to give up my cleats and Ozzy Osbourne tee!

Jagger, Luna and I never grew out of our "phase". In fact, we embraced it. Jagger dyed the tips of his white hair blood red, which made him look multicolored because he had mismatched eyes. One was as blue as his father's; the other was the emerald eye of his mother's.

One day, when we were fourteen, we slipped away from the adults and flew off to the mall. It was exciting to see all the humans buying pretzels and talking up a storm. All the vibrant colors and smells made my senses blur. I highly doubted Jagger felt the same way, though; he was striding with a confidence and determination I had never seen before, apparently on the look out for something.

Finally, we came to a stop in front of an abandoned area of the mall. There was only one human there, a woman in her twenties with a black boyish pixie cut. She was guarding an ear piercing booth and wielding the machine in a threatening manner.

I thought I understood what this was all about, so I hopped up on to the stool, choosing a modest set of silver and onyx earrings for myself, while Jagger chose to wear a single skeleton charm hanging from his ear. After a small pinprick of pain, I jumped back on to my feet, smiling at the girl. She blushed, and turned away from me to go to Jagger.

I was thinking about how she was such a nice woman, when it happened. I heard a gasp from behind me and whirled. Jagger had his arms around the woman, and to a human it would have appeared that he was giving her a major hicky. But I alone knew better than that.

"Jagger! Get off of her!" I snarled, trying furtively to grab her away from him. He was stronger than he looked. Although he was thin, he often had the secret indulgence of dreaming of being a jock. Apparently his secret little work outs were working for him. He knocked me out of the way and continued draining her of her life's blood.

The slurping sounds coming from deep inside him were disgusting and mortifying to listen to.

"Do you have to do this in front of a vegetarian?" I asked him, letting my revulsion show in every word.

He shrugged, finally parting his teeth away from the woman's neck to give me a wicked grin. "Want some?" He offered, gesturing suggestively towards her neck.

I gave him a dirty look and turned away. "Is this why we're here? So you can get a free meal?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

I glanced back at him, sitting there with the dead body of an innocent woman in his arms. "How can you live with yourself? How can you be so _cruel?"_ I growled.

He yet again shrugged. "It's the way of life, Art Boy." He said as if that explained it all, and used my nick name in the mix to aggravate me.

"Could you stop calling me that?" I snapped. Why is it I always lost my temper when it came to Jagger? This could _not_ be beneficial for my health.

"I will if you drink the rest," he said quickly. In answer I spit on his shoes.

That only served to spur his anger. He jumped to his feet, sending the body to the ground. "You better watch your back, Art Boy!" He threatened.

"Um, how is it _I_ have to watch my back? I'm not the one who is going to have to explain why I killed somebody to the mall police." I pointed to the fat men in uniform who were huffing and puffing over to where we were.

Jagger let loose a stream of low oaths under his breath. "Run, you idiot!" He shouted, sprinting towards the exit. I was right behind him, the mall cops chasing after us in the distance.

We were in the skies by the time their fat bodies skirted around the crowds.

I could not believe I went through all of that just to get my ears pierced. I hated him. I really hated him.

I was more than grateful to leave Romania after that. Dad got jobs in London, New York and other big cities. The farther away from the Maxwells, the better. I couldn't be around their sadistic son anymore.

My parents were off doing their work, leaving me in the care of our butler and my guardian, Jameson. There was little to do except haunt the playground at night, paint and watch horror movies. I was constantly watching _Dracula,_ alone in the basement of my house. And believe it or not, Bela Lugosi was rather helpful in allowing me to realize something.

That I was alone. There was no one besides Jameson to hang out with. So why would I ever want to be apart of the dark and dreary world of the undead, to be a monster? Being a vampire was a lonely road, hiding from the rest of the world and then hunting down innocent people. Why would I ever want to be a man slaughterer? If I could be more of a man and less of a monster, than maybe, just maybe, I wouldn't be alone anymore. I had never fully understood my parent's reasoning behind the vegetarian thing, but I thought I understood them perfectly clear now.

And the years flew by, more and more monotonous than the last, with me still alone. My hope dwindled, and I hid out in my room more often, listening to Dir en Grey and other metal bands. I painted continuously, growing lost in the rhythmic strokes of the brush against the canvas. I found that I was at my most creative when I came back after a flight. Big Ben with bats flying around the face, the Eiffel tower upside down, my grandparents in a red heart . . . all the things I knew, but not the thing my fingers itched to create. What could it be that I longed for? What couldn't the night offer me? Sunlight; blue skies. Love and happiness. Being a vampire was my personal Hell, something that was tearing me up inside. I was growing jealous of the humans I saw on TV. Why couldn't _I _have been born human?

The desire for humanity never left. And what little social behavior I had disappeared. All that mattered was losing myself to a can of acrylic paint and my thoughts. And I as happy. Lonely, but happy enough. If there was anyone out there like me I would find them eventually, and we could tour the cemeteries without feeling isolated or tortured by our abnormalities. That's all I could hope for ---especially when hormones kicked in. I found myself wishing for real romance, not the flimsy cardboard relationships that I saw in _Mary Kate and Ashley movies. _I wanted something lasting. And I wanted it bad.

But I was fully aware of the impossibility of finding love because of what I was. I mean, I'm a seventeen year old Goth vampire with a hidden desire for mortality. It doesn't get weirder than that. I was never going to find love. I would probably never have a girlfriend! And the chance of marriage: zipola.

So I pushed my hidden desires to the back of my mind, focusing on avoiding Dullsville and other places like it for the rest of my existence.

I had no idea that I would be visiting Dullsville so soon. And for such a drastic reason.


	2. Shocking Revelations

**2: Shocking Revelations **

I woke up from the deepest of sleeps on a cold evening. We had returned to our mansion in Romania the previous night, and I had only unpacked three things from my long over-used Slipknot travel bag. My art supplies, my complete collection of the works of Anne Rice and the bag of dirt I had been carrying with me. Since we were now in Romania again, I had no use for it; I promptly dumped it out of my window.

My room was sparse. Devoid of most color, it was gray with dark maroon borders. The family portrait hung on the wall, ---I had snatched it from the waste basket a long time ago--- the magic of it amplified by the layer of dust caking it. Apparently, Jameson hadn't been very busy for the past eleven years.

As our butler, Jameson attended to the chores that we weren't able to do due to our night life, such as running to the butcher for our breakfast. I had missed his familiar features. He was tall, pale and broad shouldered, had long, straight white teeth, bulging green monster eyes, and was as bald as an egg. His head kind of looked like one too, come to think of it.

I wrestled on my Cure tee shirt and my old, black Doc Martins after I had crawled out of my simple black coffin. I was more than grateful to escape it. Claustrophobia and I weren't exactly on the same team. I hated the closed feeling, as if I could never get out, forever and even more permanently isolated from the universe. I gave an involuntary shiver at the very prospect.

The kitchen wasn't as filthy as my bedroom. The black linoleum sparkled as I thudded over to the refrigerator. I chose the small, dark blue bottle in the bottom drawer, claiming it as my breakfast. I unscrewed the cork top with a quick flash of my hand, propelling it into the steel garbage can.

"High score," I chuckled. Then I tipped the bottle back and gulped down the blood.

It was creamy on my taste buds. The blood seduced my hunger, taunting me with its pleasurable warmth. Delicious. Much better than Count Chocula.

I sighed and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. I threw the small bottle into the sink and heard the sound of glass meeting counter. Not wanting to stick around when my mom saw the lovely mess, I retreated hastily out the back door.

The night was lit up by a full moon, the stars sparkling and splattered about the sky like white paint on a deep indigo canvas. The weeping willows and my favorite pine tree danced and swayed in the cold, clean breeze. This is what a vampire lived for; the serenity of the darkness.

Convulsions came in steady rhythms as I jumped on to the black picnic table. My heart rate palpitated as my body shrank. In less than a minute, I was soaring through the sky, not as a boy, but as a bat.

Romania was quiet tonight. I smiled, revealing my inch long fangs. The silence was deafening, and I flourished in it.

I returned to my house a few hours later. The countryside had changed. More neighborhoods dotted here and there. What a shame. Soon there'll be a golf course. Dullsville all over again; oh joy, I couldn't wait to be laughed at.

My mother was in the kitchen, the glass already cleared up. She looked uncomfortable about something.

"Mom? Is something wrong?" I changed back in record time and stood in front of her. She was wearing a black dress and platform black sandals. She even had her good black lipstick on. This happened only on special occasions.

"Alexander." She tried to look less pathetic and more determined, but failed miserably. "I have something to tell you. Sit down; you'll thank me for it later."

I sat down on the stiff, wooden chair, bewildered by my mother's odd behavior.

She cleared her throat before speaking. "I don't know how to tell you this honey . . . but there's a reason we came back to Romania." Mom looked at me apprehensively. I think I disappointed her by giving her a blank look.

"Um, yeah. Because Dad's job brought him here?" I guessed.

"Honey . . . you're getting married."

Silence. And then I broke out in laughter.

"Ha ha, Mom . . . stop kidding around! So what's really going on? Are you going on a date with Dad, or . . ." I stopped when I saw her face.

"I'm not kidding Alexander," she said gravely.

My already pale face lost any pigment it may have been blessed with. My insides vanished and replaced with ice water. I suddenly wished I had kept flying over the countryside and never returned.

"_Dad!" _I could feel the panic rise like carbonation in a pop bottle.

_**It's a joke . . . it's just a sick joke, a really bad joke, and Mom is a really good actress, that's all . . .**_ I thought to myself, trying to make it true by reciting it over and over, like a mantra.

My dad appeared at the end of the hallway with Jameson. The contrast was ridiculous. They both had identical tuxedos, but Jameson's bald head and buggy eyes were polar opposite to my father's short black hair and deep brown set.

That's when something sunk in. _Tuxedos._They were against me too.

"Oh my ---! Am I ---?! What's going on?!" I shouted to them, glancing frantically from face to face. _Somebody help me!_ I pleaded silently. "I'm only seventeen for Christ's sake!"

"Now, Alexander! You like Luna, don't you?" my dad asked, trying to somehow impossibly salvage the evening. "Alright, you didn't exactly hang out when you were younger and you haven't seen each other in years, but I'm sure that she is quite nice."

"_Luna?!" _I'm marrying _Luna?!"_ I was in hysterics. I paced the kitchen wishing for someone to shout "April fool's!"

"She's a nice girl," my mom assured me. "You remember her, right?"

I ignored everyone's questions. Nothing made sense. It was all wrong.

"How long?" I asked, trying to calm myself down. I wondered if it was possible for a vampire to suffer a cardiac arrest.

"'How long' what?"

"_How long have I been engaged?!"_ Honestly, adults could be so ridiculously dense sometimes.

"Alexander, calm down." Dad placed his hands on my shoulders, but I shook them away.

"I have a right to be shocked, don't I? What's next, are you going to tell me that Jagger's my personal concubine or something?!" I demanded.

My parents and Jameson got a good laugh out of that one.

"It's not funny! Why did you tell me now and not earlier?" I asked.

"You would have run away someplace or locked yourself in your bedroom for all eternity," my mother said matter-of-factly.

She was right. I was debating whether or not to run upstairs right now and barricade the door with my coffin.

Guessing my plan, my dad gave me a look and stepped in the doorway, blocking my means of escape. I examined my chances of winning a fight with him; I had to admit, they weren't good.

"I'm not getting married tonight, am I?" I finally asked. Please say no.

"Actually, you are. Go upstairs and get dressed; your clothes are in your room." My mom's voice was quiet.

"_Tonight?! _I _just_ found out that I've been engaged, and I have to get married _tonight?!"_

"Just do it, Alexander." My dad was almost growling.

I responded by giving him a vicious snarl of my own.

"Get him upstairs, Jameson," he commanded. Before I had time to react, Jameson had obediently lifted me up by the shoulders like a preschooler and stomped to my room. Traitor.

The door clicked behind me. I was alone; the only thing I could see was the foreboding three piece suit. This couldn't be happening. This really couldn't happen. Not only was I pissed off about it, but I really thought that seventeen year old marriage binding ceremonies were illegal. Or was that only in America? I forgot so easily.

If there was ever a time that I could die, this would definitely be the perfect moment.

"Mom, please explain a little more to me, please," I pleaded. We were in the Mercedes, chafing the speed limit set by our car.

"What do you want to know?" She hedged, smoothing out her black eye shadow as best she could without a mirror.

"Is this a regular marriage or a covenant ceremony?" My voice was calm. Inside of me was a different story.

My parents and Jameson gave each other dark looks. They had been apparently hoping I wouldn't ask that that particular question. Their silence answered my question.

"Well, I guess I know," I mumbled, defeated. "So, was this arranged from our birth, like in one of those old time movies?"

They were prepared for this one. "Yes. The same year Jagger, Luna and you were born, we agreed to bond two for eternity, thus ensuring Luna a place in the vampire world. You aren't mad at us, right?" My mother asked cautiously.

"No." I sighed. I was much more than angry. I was furious.

I found it very hard to believe that my parents could do this. Were even _capable_ of doing this. It was straight out of some really messed up Shakespearian play!

An arranged marriage. No, this was more than a simple marriage. In one swift bite I would take someone I didn't truly love for eternity. And, as immature as it sounded, it wasn't fair. Luna and I both deserved to find someone we would like.

Unless I make sure there _is_ no eternity. I vaguely considered buying garlic and offing myself but thought better of it. And then it came to me. I knew exactly what I would do. It was dramatic ---soap opera worthy, even--- and I would be putting my family at risk. But I realized it would be up to me and my decision ---not to mention my guts--- to get me and Luna out of this mess.

We arrived at the Maxwells' mansion. The great wooden doors swung open as we neared them. I smiled in anticipation. I was obviously a danger junkie.

"Oh! Alexander! How wonderful it is to see you!" Mrs. Maxwell exclaimed as soon as we made eye contact. She hadn't changed in the slightest. I suppose it was silly of me to expect a perceptual difference ---it wasn't like vampires got super old. She was still as stick-like as ever. If she hadn't put on a little weight, than the rest of their family certainly didn't either. I felt a surge of pity for Jagger; I remembered his childhood dream of being a star athlete.

"Hello, Mrs. Maxwell. It's nice to see you too," I said, starting to blush. Sometimes I really hated my shy nature.

She grinned, flashing her fangs. I wished I could knock them out. I was surprised of myself; I was usually a pacifistic person.

"Jagger's upstairs," she said, moving a tiny bit to the side to let me by. I took the excuse to escape with a twinge of glee. As much as I liked her, I felt uneasy when I was in Mrs. Maxwells' presence.

I had absolutely no intention of running into Jagger. If it was possible, I would hide from him forever.

Instead of going up the winding staircase, I turned the corner and went into the library.

Dusty tomes with long, unintelligible names lined the huge walls. It was obvious none of the Maxwells ventured here; a thin layer of dust covered the wooden planks and the small heap of Jane Austin books on the oak table. A long, wall length window with a few broken panes was on my right. There were a few wall sconces ---unlit, of course--- that glittered in the moonlight, casting rainbows on the floor at my feet. A fog was rolling out under the moon, the shadows and silhouettes of the weeping willows seeping through the window panes. In the distance, I heard a wolf howling, straight out of a horror flick.

Damn, the Maxwells were lucky!

_I'm going to draw this,_ I thought to myself. I searched the table for a blank paper. I finally spotted an inviting, clean scroll under an ancient _Pride and Prejudice._

I brought it over to a red Victorian reading chair, whipping out the stubby pencil I kept in my back pocket in case of emergencies such as this. The chair coughed up a plume of dust the size of a small country as I flopped down onto it. I skritched out the general shape of the table, the books, and the windows. I started to shade in the shadows surrounding and caressing the objects in the room, when I felt it. My skin crawled as I felt a presence, somewhere close by, hiding in the darkness. Watching me.

Moving on pure instinct alone, I grabbed _Pride and Prejudice _and propelled it at top speeds behind me. I heard a loud 'thunk' and a yelp of pain, and smiled in self-satisfaction. I would have made a great hunter, had I not been a vegetarian. Jagger strolled over, snarling something along the lines of, ". . . he's all calm and quiet around the adults, but he's a psycho around _me . . ."_ under his breath. He made sure to give me a responding smack on the back of my head before letting the book fall on the table.

"Do you normally throw books at people, or is it just me?" He flipped his lanky, white hair to the side, letting his blue and green mismatched eyes glare at me.

He was exactly the same but totally different. He was still cadaverous, that much I was sure of. His cheek bones were very prominent, and his black dress shirt hung off his bony body. Jagger was the walking incarnation of Jack Skellington, but a thousand times more frightening.

Over the years, he had gotten his eyebrow pierced three times and had acquired a tattoo of the word 'possess' on his arm. He was good looking; I was secure enough in my masculinity to admit that. But he was evil incarnate, just like his smile suggested.

"Hey, Jagger," I said weakly, feeling awkward in the horrid three piece suit. I folded up my picture as discreetly as I could, but of course, Jagger's roaming eyes spotted the movement.

"What's this?" He snatched the scroll and unrolled it roughly. I fought down a grimace. That was bound to smudge the rest of the paper.

"Drawing, again? The library. How . . . quaint." He made a face as if to say that quaint was hideous. "Why don't you draw something fun to look at? Like porn?" He suggested, a wicked glint in his eyes.

I frowned. So, Jagger was still a pervert. The years hadn't changed him for the better. I remembered when he snuck into the girl's locker room at a local pool, dragging a very reluctant me along with him. In one swoop, he corrupted my youthful innocence for the rest of my miserable, masochistic life. I don't think I have ever run away from a place that fast in my life. Damn him; those images were permanently burned into my retinas.

"So . . . um, Jagger . . . how have you been?" I asked, trying to break through the tense atmosphere.

"I've been good," Jagger flashed his fangs. "The humans taste better than ever."

I glared at him. "You know that's not what I meant. Stop thinking with your stomach!"

Jagger laughed, unrepentant. "We've been fine. Luna's been waiting for this day for a long time!"

"Because she loves me, or because she wants to be a vampire?" I couldn't help but ask.

"What does _love_ have to do with anything?" He was starting to get angry. I had gradually forgotten the mood swings he went through; he was more dangerous than a pregnant woman. "Hate to break it to you, Art Boy; _love doesn't exist! _All that matters is staying alive until the end of the world as we know it, causing chaos and mayhem where ever we go and whenever we please! Bite her and deal with it!"

"Why don't _you_ 'bite her and deal with it'?' I quoted, clutching my pencil tight. I made dents in it with my grip. I forgot just how strong vampires were.

"Marry my sister? In a covenant ceremony, no less? That's sick."

"So's your face," I said bitterly. It wasn't really his fault, but I was too pissed off to care at the moment.

"Why, you---" Jagger listed a long stream of profanities that he must have picked up from _the Godfather._

"Now, now, Jagger. You don't want your daddy to spank you, do you?" I chided. I had to admit, this was fun. His pale face was turning as red as a Christmas bauble. A malnourished Christmas vampire. This was very entertaining indeed.

"Jagger, you better stop. You don't want to blow up, do you?" I asked, serious now. The poor guy looked as if he were about to pop a blood vessel. He had a shorter fuse than I thought. I almost felt bad for him. Almost.

"If it weren't for the fact that you're going to marry my sister, I'd---"

"Do what? Turn a different color again? I recommend puce; that would be amusing."

The next thing I knew, I was sprawled out on the floor, dust exploding. My chin stung where he hit me. Those skinny hands of his had quite a wallop.

"Be careful what you say, Art Boy," he growled, looking down on me, his fist raised. "Don't insult your superiors."

I laughed. I wasn't in a position to be so, but I found what he said hilarious. "When you see one, let me know, would you?" I stood up, dusting off my suit. My parents were going to kill me for this. I had a chance to look at the price tag; buying a yacht sounded like a more reasonable price.

Before Jagger could achieve any notable damage involving my groin and the book case as I'm only too sure he was graphically imagining, the door creaked open. A boy, around eleven by the look of it, came in cautiously. The Maxwells must have had another son; the boy was a shrunken version of Jagger. Ghost white hair, black nail polish, pierced ears . . . I wouldn't be surprised if he had a tattoo.

"Jagger, it's beginning," he said, not looking at me. He turned on his heel and exited the room, just as quickly as he came.

"Time for a wedding!" Jagger snickered. What was so funny, I couldn't fathom. There had to be something wrong with him. I had a theory that had to do along the lines of the words 'crystal meath' and 'crack addict' though.

Jagger was euphoric. I felt dead inside.


	3. Flight or Bite

**3: Flight or Bite **

I thought I was about to hyperventilate.

I was standing at the alter. Under any other circumstances, I would have considered the cemetery to be beautiful; tombstones kissing the night time sky, fog encasing the graveyard. But the scenery meant little to me tonight. Very little meant anything, actually.

Both of the families ---and Jameson, of course--- were chatting amiably amongst themselves while I was scared stiff.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when Jagger snuck up on me from behind and tapped my shoulder. "Nervous?" He asked, ready to tease me.

"No, I usually act like this," I responded, my sarcasm marred by my uneasy voice. I thought I was going to die right there and then. Well, okay, more like I _hoped_ I would die right there and then.

"Need any tips on sex?" He asked.

"No!" But I blushed. Luna didn't expect anything, did she? I suddenly wished I had taken that garlic after all.

Jagger got a heinous sparkle in his metallic green and ice blue eyes. He smiled slowly, and with every millimeter his lips pulled upward, I loathed him more and more. "So! Art Boy's a virgin! Never flew with anybody, huh? Luna's getting a boy as pure as the driven snow, poor girl," Jagger sympathized.

"I may be as untainted as a choir boy, but at least I'm not a lecher like you," I whispered back. I am pleased to say that I wiped that grin of his face in record time.

"You better watch your back, Art Boy," he snarled. "Because I'll be there holding a stake behind you."

I yawned. "Yeah, yeah. You talk big, but you don't have the muscle to back up your mouth." I caught sight of the little kid again. "I presume that's your brother?"

Jagger followed my gaze. "Yeah. That's him. You weren't able to meet him before, right? His name's Valentine. Handsome little devil, isn't he? Spitting image of yours truly."

"I withhold my comment." Take a hint and leave, Jagger!

"Okay, let's get something straight, Alexander," he said suddenly.

I was shocked he used my full name. He never called me Alexander. Art Boy, absolutely. Sterling, when he's angry. Dork Lad, he never called me that again after I punched his baby fangs out when we were kids. But never Alexander.

So naturally I thought that maybe he was feeling some brotherly affection towards me. Oh, I was so wrong.

"If you get on my bad side one more time, I'm going to ram my combat boots right up your---"

"Jagger!" Mrs. Maxwell hissed. "Get down from there and stop playing around with your friend!"

He ignored her. "Mess with me and I'll mess up your face. Like Hell."

"What's with the tough guy act now? No need to try and impress me; no offence, but you're not my type." I waved him. Jagger made a not so nice responsive hand signal, which I returned with an even badder one.

At the exact moment I was contemplating violence, the music started. Jagger glared at me. The glance spoke volumes ---the rest of the evening was promising to be Hell. But he flew off to his seat, leaving me alone by the coffin alter. A medieval candelabra and a goblet of sweetened blood stood discouragingly on the black lace tablecloth. Actually, if you wanted to get technical, it was a coffin cloth. But that didn't matter.

The bride had arrived.

Luna was amazing. She had a pale pink spandex mini dress with black spider web trim, black combat boots and a pink veil. In her black gloved hands she held a lovely bouquet of dead roses. She was beautiful. She was graceful. She was . . . all wrong. My plan better work. I could only hope she was forgiving.

"Hello, Alexander," she said breathlessly. Ocean blue eyes were rimmed by baby doll black eye lashes, blinking at me behind the veil. For a Goth vampire, she was colorful. The flowing white hair and bubble gum lips coupled with the hot pink eye shadow gave me a clue that she was pixie-Goth, a new form of Gothic culture. It was the preppy side of the dark side, I guess. I suppressed my gag reflex. If she wasn't obsessed with becoming a vampire, she's have fit in with the crowds in Dullsville without a problem.

"Hello, Luna," I said just as breathlessly, but for different reasons. Marriage scared me.

The wax from the candles was dripping down the pewter spine of the candelabra, falling onto the table gently.

Luna grabbed the goblet. She recited the Romanian vows of vampirism speedily. And then she drank deeply. She pulled away finally, a stream of the liquid coming from her cotton candy smile. Luna passed it to me.

I drank hesitantly. Did she know what she was signing herself over to?

I put the goblet down and looked directly into her eyes. They were eager, no doubt about that. But something lay hidden . . . something I had been thinking bout all evening.

Luna leaned in to kiss me for eternity. One bite, and we would be bonded. I leaned down, my heart beating sporadically. I was vaguely aware of the breathless crowd, who were in the edge of their seats with anticipation.

My fangs unsheathed with every inch I neared closer to her pale neck . . . the smell of her warm blood filled the air around her, and I could almost see it rush under her membrane. My fangs touched her at the nape of her neck . . .

. . . and then I kissed her cheek.

"I'm sorry, Luna. But I'm not the one for you. this relationship wouldn't work out. We both deserve a relationship we can sink our teeth into. I'm sorry," I whispered.

Luna looked shocked. "What?!" The families were silent.

"Luna, I can't marry you," I repeated, louder this time. Maybe old age affected humans really early. Maybe she was partly deaf. "This is wrong. I'd bite you if this wasn't a graveyard we were standing in, but we can't go through with a covenant ceremony. We need someone who is going to satisfy our thirst for one another. I'm very sorry I had to end it like this, but I was just only recently informed of this arrangement, myself," I apologized again.

She shook her head and laughed, a gnarled sound. "You can't do this! My family will _make _you!"

I blinked, and started to get a little aggravated. "I believe I just _did_ do that. And no, no one can _make _me do anything," I argued hotly.

Jagger and Mr. Maxwell were walking up the aisle towards us, seething with rage.

"I warned you, Art Boy! But you didn't listen to me, oh no. You had to seal your fate!" Jagger shouted. Both he and his dad were turning purple.

I glanced around for my parents. I found them finally, and they looked alarmed, but not particularly surprised. My father caught my eye. I knew what to do.

Jagger and Mr. Maxwell lunged for my jugular the same time I transformed. I was in the sky by the time they realized what I had done.

Jameson was in the Mercedes listening to Barry White when I finally found our car. He had somehow snuck out of the ceremony without being spotted and had hid out here. I crash landed through the open window like a model plane set on fire.

"Drive, Jameson!" I yelled. My parents could fly home.

"Master Alexander? What are you doing? I thought you were getting married?"

"Never mind that, Jameson! Now put the pedal to the metal and let's get out of here!" I said frantically. He got the message. He jammed the keys into the ignition and swerved out of the driveway. Not fast enough, though. I could hear the others flying behind us with my acute sense of hearing. I had forgotten that Jameson drives a car as fast as a little old lady pushes a shopping cart.

"Move out of the way, Jameson!" I snapped, exasperated. We hopped seats without moving the car an inch.

It was a good thing I had gotten my driver's license, but I had a feeling that I was about to loose it for what I was preparing to do.

By the time we got off the road, I was doing one hundred and twenty miles per hour. Jameson was shrinking back into his seat, terrified.

"Slow down, Alexander!" He shouted.

"Jameson! Such familiarity! That's _Master _Alexander to you!" I chuckled.

"What's wrong? And don't tell me nothing; something must be causing you to attempt suicide, although I don't know why you want to kill me too!"

"I'm escaping commitment," I explained grimly, increasing the speed.

Jameson's jaw dropped. "You left that young lady at the _alter?_ That's malevolent! Simply evil! Detestable! Absolutely---"

"Okay, I know already!" I cut into his rant. "I was a really mean troll! But is ditching an evil vampire lady on her wedding day as horrible as sending someone in to bind them with someone they didn't love for eternity?" I asked him darkly. Jameson said nothing. He knew I was right.

I swerved around several mini vans and a silver Volvo, causing everyone to panic. I thought I caught the auburn haired boy driving the Volvo swearing loudly while a brown haired girl was gripping the side of the gray leather seat trying not to puke. To my amazement, the boy appeared to tail me, trying to match my speed.

"Jameson," I muttered quietly. He was still pressing himself into the seat, clutching his chest for dear life, the poor man. "You aren't going to believe this."

"You've decided to drive at a reasonable speed?"

"No, but good guess. There appears to be a silver Volvo racing us. Shall we defeat them?" I smiled at the thought. Before Jameson could ruin my fun and say no, I revved the engine and pelted down the high way alongside the Volvo.

The auburn teenager was giving me an odd look, as if he expected me to be one thing, but it turned out I was another. Whatever he thought I was though, made his eyes glitter in excitement. I'm sure I had that same exhilarated gleam in my expression too.

If our faces were identical, so were our reluctant car passengers. The girl looked as if she were about to faint after crying, and Jameson looked as if he were about to suffer from aneurysm.

You'd think the police would have seen a car race on a state high way between a silver Volvo and a black Mercedes, but it appeared that they weren't around. Doughnut break.

Unfortunately, Our turn was approaching at a fast pace, so I had to exit the race without beating the auburn boy. I thought he looked almost smug as I turned out onto the road. I considered whirling around and totaling his car, but controlled myself. My parents wouldn't be too pleased if I brought home a beat up Mercedes. Not that they were bound to be pleased anyway.

I drove normally down my driveway. Jameson seemed to have recovered, but was eyeing my grip on the steering wheel warily. It would be a long time before I would be allowed to drive again.

"Do me a favor and don't tell my parents about our little adventure today, okay? I'm in enough crap over my head anyway," I asked him.

He glared. "Fine! But only because I've known you since you were in diapers!"

"Thanks, Jameson!" I grinned, flinging open the car door.

I speed packed when I burst into my bedroom. I threw in clothes and a spare bag of soil into my travel bag. There was only one place where I could think of escaping; a place of nostalgia, uncomfortable feelings and secrecy:

Dullsville, U.S.A.

"Are you sure you want to do this, honey?" My mother asked at the airport.

Last night I had rooted out my passport and bought 1st class plane tickets to my pastel hide out in the middle of nowhere. Jagger would never find me.

"What, and stay here so a psychopath vampire family can hunt me down? No thanks! And stop acting like I'm going alone! You're coming with me, Jameson included. No way are you all suffering for my idiocy!" I said, indignant.

"All right," she said, and sighed. "And we _just_ got home, too . . ."

"Alexander, I have to admit . . . running off to Grandmother Sterling's old house was a stroke of brilliance," my dad admired. "A microscopic town in the sticks that would never suspect vampires. Perfect."

We hopped onto the plane. I was very happy it was only sunset at the moment, because it would be a very inconvenient to explain why three of the passengers burst into flame and turned into ashes to the flight attendant if we arrived in Dullsville in the morning.


	4. Dullsville's Dream Girl

**4: Dullsville's Dream Girl**

It was three in the morning when we stepped into Grandma's mansion.

We had had a little trouble explaining to the passengers why three coffins were accompanying us on our journey. Nosy humans. They bought our phony story about how our relatives had died in a horrible car crash with suspicion. Maybe they thought we were illegal immigrants smuggling drugs into the country.

The mansion was in poor condition. The yard had grown feral over the years, the windows and the doors were boarded up, and dust monopolized it.

Beautiful, right? I know. I was taken aback at the beauty of it all and just stared at it. My parents were staring at it with a less then favorable gaze, but oh well.

"I call the attic!" I told my parents, and then climbed the stairs with my bags and my coffin on my back.

I half expected Grandma to pop out of the doors and yell, 'hi, sonny!'.

Excluding the dust and the white sheets draping the furniture, it was exactly as I remembered it.

Wind howled and the floorboards creaked. My skin started to crawl, but it was for a different reason then what you'd expect.

"Oh, crap. Why does it have to _rise_?" I grumbled to myself, referring to the sun that was breaking into dawn.

I dropped the coffin on the hallway floor. Jameson wasn't going to be pleased that I couldn't even make it to the doorway, but that was his problem.

After haphazardly throwing dirt all around my coffin, I kicked off my shoes and sank into the silken interior, closing the lid behind me.

I was feverishly painting, splattering black paint onto the bridge of my nose. It was making me obsessive. Not the painting, but the girl. She stood, a Princess of Darkness, smiling at me. Not with the candy colored smile I had turned down, not with my mother's warm grin. This girl had luscious, full black lips, the color of a lagoon at night. Her hair was moderately lengthy and slightly wavy, a vision of vivid midnight. And her eyes. Those raven colored eyes. They were scorching and beautiful behind the black eye liner and eye shadow, positively striking.

"Alexander," she called, her voice seductive.

"Yes? I'm almost done," I answered.

"Alexander, come over here," she commanded. I obeyed, abandoning my work instantly. Who was this girl, and why is it I felt so . . . at peace around her? She slid her arms around me and hugged me tight.

"I love you," she said in my ear, her eyes smoldering. She caught me off guard, but not in a bad way. A very, very good way.

"I love you, too." Remarkably, my words sounded true to me. _And I didn't even know her name._

And then I woke up.

Another evening to myself. My parents had gone off to scout work and Jameson was out and about the basement, wielding a feather duster.

I grabbed my stuff and trudged up another flight of stairs to the attic. This was like a work out for the exercise channel. I was no doubt going to be buff after a year or so running up these steps.

Dust and cobwebs greeted me like a banner when I threw open the door. I wasn't surprised.

Jameson had been in here. He had brought up all the things I hadn't been able to. My portraits, my art supplies, my CDs, my stereo, my easy chair, my books, and my mattress. (I may not sleep in it, but I like to daydream about humanity at least)

I collapsed on to my mattress and flicked on H.I.M. on my stereo. I needed to slow down; my life, my thought process.

I had just found I was engaged, met up with my arch enemy who was also ironically my best friend, and escaped of my own free will to the place I loathed the most as a fugitive to matrimony two days ---or should I say nights--- ago. It felt like my life was slipping through my fingers like sand on a beach.

I switched to my Aiden CD. The lyrics made my subconscious drift away a little more.

_ You can illustrate your life in romance_

_But I can show you something so much more_

_Than words, in my hands. _

_ It's not your best intention now to burn_

_Your friends. This is your last night, this last_

_Chance in my hands. _

_ DIE ROMANTIC, ROMANTIC--- _

Click. I turned it off before it could continue. Wasn't there anything melancholy or something? I'd already listened to H.I.M's 'Join me in Death' and 'Vampire Heart'. Slipknot? No, not head banger tonight. Some 'Nightmare' club techno? No, I wasn't a cyber Goth. Evanescence was the ticket tonight.

I rooted through my collection, choosing the Open Door CD. I put it on just as I heard voices walking past the Mansion. High school girls by the sounds of them; it was only sunset, they were probably coming home from school.

_ Stay low_

_Soft, dark, and dreamless_

_Far beneath my nightmares_

_And loneliness _

_I hate me_

_For breathing without you . . . _

I got up to look out the window, music blaring in the background. I wanted to see the stars. Were they the exact same ones I had seen from my old attic window back in Romania? I gently and half heartedly shifted the dark velvet curtains out of the way and gazed upward.

_ And though I may have_

_Lost my way,_

_All the paths lead straight to you . . . _

I spotted my favorite constellation; the Big Dipper. It looked kind of odd, but mostly the same as always. The moon beamed down and lit up my face. I couldn't believe that I was actually stargazing in Dullsville. If you had told me where I would be going a week ago, I'd have never have believed you.

Damn it all . . . I missed Romania so badly. I was running away from a place I never wanted to part with.

"Becky, look!" a voice screamed from down below. It caught me off guard and I nearly tripped over my own feet in my haste to get out of the way.

"Oh, no! It's true, Raven. There are ghosts!" another voice sounded hysterical.

I chanced a quick peek around the side of the window. One little look wouldn't hurt.

And that's the first time I ever saw her.

She was beautiful. Amazing. The most stunning creature I had ever had the fortune of spotting in my life.

And here's the weird thing; she looked remarkably like the Goth Goddess from my dream! Exactly alike, actually.

Was I secretly a physic or something?

"Well, this ghost drives a black Mercedes!" I heard her say, pointing at our car.

"Let's go," the girl she was with, a brunette farmer-like girl, was begging to leave.

Hoping to persuade them to get a move onto their house, I turned my light off. Maybe if they thought Casper had left, they'd follow suit.

They did, after a little argument about some party and a guy named Matt.

I couldn't believe it. There was a beautiful Goth girl around my age (always an added bonus if the girl wasn't ancient) and she was living around the same general square area as me.

I sank onto my mattress. There was only one thing I could think off:

Perhaps I should extend my trip to Dullsville. There was an interesting person I was just dying to meet.


	5. Out in the Woods

**5: Out in the Woods**

I had never had a real crush on anyone before. I would know if someone was good looking, but that's not the same as actually _liking_ someone. So this was new to me.

I wondered where Goth Goddess hung out and who her friends were. I wondered how she could stand it here in such a candy colored town, and if she was lonely. The brunette had to be one of her friends. I kind of envied the brunette. She got to spend her time in the company of the most interesting person in Dullsville.

Back when we were kids, Jagger told me about crushes and what to do. I strained my brain, trying to remember his words.

_Jagger paced the playground. We had recently found it months ago, and it was now our hang out place. I watched him wearily. I had a feeling that he was about to bore me with his babble into an early grave. _

"_Do you have a crush on someone?" He asked._

_I stared at him, uncomprehending. "Huh? What's a crush?" _

_Jagger gave me an incredulous stare. "A crush is when you really like someone. I have a crush on that girl over there," he said proudly, pointing to a Goth girl smoking a joint across the street._

"_What do you do when you have a crush?" I asked, intrigued._

"_You spend time with her and hope she likes you back."_

"_Do you think anybody could have a crush on me?" I had to admit, I liked the idea of a crush quite a bit._

"_Are you kidding?" Jagger laughed. "Sorry. Girls like guys like me, not boys like you, Dork Lad."_

_My fist connected with his mouth, causing his training fangs to come flying out and hit the ground. I ignored his cursing and screaming the entire evening._

Well, that wasn't helpful. All that told me was that Jagger was a pain in the butt even when we were nine.

I groaned. I was so bored. The CD had long since ended, and I was hesitant to do something other than sulk without my precious Romania.

Finally, I got off my lazy arse and threw open my balcony window. I would fly.

The usual process began; convulsions, red eyes and a prickly feeling as fur grew in. Fangs grew huge as I grew small. My arms stretched and pulled and popped into wings. I was now eight inches tall and throwing myself off the window ledge.

The wind was awesome beneath my wings. Cool, crisp, empowering. I screeched in delight and flapped harder, up into the night. The moon was bright and full, a vampire's sun. The stars were breathtaking and sparkly as I smoothly cut through the air.

I felt compelled to scout for something to paint. Maybe inspiration could be found even in a town such as this.

The trees were fiery and copper toned in the moonlight. I had forgotten how truly beautiful Dullsville could be, despite its populace.

I heard far off screeching; bats were drawn by our mere presence. I flew off to meet them.

Six midget bats circled me as I drew near.

"Come play, Alexander!" One demanded.

"I don't have time tonight, guys," I said. "I'm searching for something."

"What? Something? Or someone?" They asked, getting nosy.

Goth Goddess's face flashed in my memory, stunning me once more.

"Something. Anything beautiful to paint," I said.

"The moon! The moon!" They all screamed.

"I've done that a thousand times before! Give me a challenge!" I scoffed.

They thought awhile. "Well, I know a good place. The moon illuminates the tree trunks. It's deep in the woods," one piped up.

"Excellent!" I said brightly. "Show me!"

We flew off, the small, oompa-loompa sized bat leading the way.

I hoped this place would be so beautiful that I would forget all about Goth Goddess. Having a crush would ruin my life. And besides, I'd act like an idiot in front of her anyway; what was the point of even seeking her attention?

By the time we arrived, I was practically wheezing. I wasn't scrawny like Jagger, but Rocky Balboa I was not. I collapsed on a tree, changing back into a teenager immediately. My bat posse flew around my tree, restless.

"Is this it?" I asked the oompa-loompa bat. She made a motion with her wings to signify yes.

Oompa-loompa had been right. This area was in the heart of the forest and was very pretty.

I breathed in the scent of damp moss and tree bark. So calm here. I liked it. I hoped I could find the way back on foot.

Crashing and a crunching of leaves came from the trees close by us, startling me so badly, I fell into a bush.

_Oh, crap!!!_ A couple emerged from the trees. I transformed so fast, if there was a vampire Olympics team I would have been signed up once.

Hiding in the trees, I stared down on my unexpected ---and unwanted--- company.

A teenage boy, my age, was romping blindly through the jungle of weeds. He wasn't dressed for this sort of thing; khaki pants and loafers weren't exactly compatible with the wilderness.

"Let's stop here," he said to the girl who was leading him, hidden in the shadows.

"No, just a little bit further," the girl insisted. "It's my sixteenth birthday. I want this to be a night I'll never forget! We need total privacy." There was something on the edge of her words. Humor?

"This is plenty private," the boy argued, groping around for the girl. I kind of agreed with him. They were in the middle of the woods at eleven o'clock at night. The only person who would be here was a very disgusted ---but admittedly amused and curious--- vegetarian vampire.

"We're almost there," she said, tugging his arm. I saw a black sweater sleeve attached to a pal hand with black nail polish. It couldn't be.

She stepped into a puddle of moonlight and I could see her fully now. The deliciously pale tint of her skin and the natural bounce of her hair were unmistakable. Goth Goddess was here.

Goth Girl?! With a blond, khaki wearing jock?! (His muscles gave me a clue to his pastimes)

She led him a few more feet, and then stopped.

"This is perfect!" She said at last.

The blond jock squeezed her; not because he loved her, but because he was afraid of the dark. It was pathetic. I felt a spark of pity for Goth Girl; she deserved a lover.

Goth Girl wasn't really planning to deflower a Jock Jerk, was she? I knew it was sick, but I couldn't find the will power to fly away as fast as my wings could take me. I sensed something was going through her mind. Something wicked. And I wanted to know what it was. She was planning something big; her smoky, night colored eyes looked evilly amused.

The blond jock was a total animal. Hands flailing everywhere ---the tree, the girl. The only thing moving faster then his hands was his mouth ---I didn't know tongues were that quick. It didn't take long for Jock Jerk to find Goth Girl's buttons on her shirt. Even blind he was desperate for some action.

I was disgusted. Real gentlemen shouldn't act this way. Why didn't she tell him to keep his hands to himself? She couldn't be enjoying this! Obviously, I had made a mistake in character. Just because she wasn't dressed up as a Barbie doll, didn't mean she didn't think like the rest of them.

I urged myself to move. To fly. To get the Hell outta here before I witnessed something rivaling Playboy.

My claws stayed to my tree branch.

The wind was gentle, so if they talked I would be able to hear. The only thing making a racket was my bat posse.

"Hey, shut up!" I hissed, glaring up at them. I looked down quickly. And nearly had a heart attack.

She was staring at me. It seemed as if she was looking straight into my soul with those wise eyes of hers. And then I realized ---she was gazing at my friends, not me. I let a whoosh of air escape as I calmed down and regained my wits.

Goth Girl then turned her attention to the jock, who was still trying to undo her shirt. The wicked glint returned.

"No, you first," she said, sugar sweet and innocent. I wasn't fooled for a second. Innocence doesn't come easily to a girl in black lipstick.

She lifted his sweater over his head with a confident air, as if she had done this countless times. Then a V-neck, and an undershirt . . . I thought my feet would go numb and I'd drop from the tree by the time his layers of shirts were gone.

Goth Girl admired his chest ---let's face it, this guy was every girl's dream--- almost against her will. Her morals.

Jock Jerk pulled her closer, her black, lacy rayon shirt touching his torso. I couldn't help but notice the disgust on her face.

"Now you, baby. I want you so bad," Jock Boy said lustfully. I restrained a hoot of laughter that threatened to escape. It was like I was watching some skin flick on cable. What a badly delivered line! _I could do better. WAY better. _I couldn't help but add. I mentally kicked myself for thinking like that.

"Me too, baby." the Princess of Moonlight sighed, sarcasm heavily pronounced. I saw her eyes roll even from where I was hanging in the darkness. If Jock Jerk didn't catch that, he was stupider than he looked.

Goth Girl lowered him down to the earth, sliding off his loafers and socks. Jock Boy gladly took off the rest.

He lay there, propped up on his elbows, as Goth Girl seemed to contemplate something. She made her decision with certainty.

_Oh my God, they're really going to do it! I'm so out of here! _I silently freaked out. But of course, I didn't move an inch.

"Hurry up ---come over here," Jock Jerk whined. "I'm cold." I snorted. No, duh! It's the middle of October; what did you expect?

A coy smile sprang onto Goth Goddess's black lips. What could she possibly be planning?

"I'll just be a minute. I don't want you to see me undress."

"I can't see you! I can't even see my own hands!"

"Well, just hang on."

I waited for her to strip behind a tree or something.

She just stood there, and scooped up Jock Boy's clothes. She was thinking. Suddenly, she gave me and my friends a dazzling smile. My heart sped up.

And then she ran. She ran like a track star, weaving her way through the wilds of Dullsville carrying the life of a jock conformist in her arms.

I flew off, in sync with her movements. She was heading into the opposite direction of the Mansion. Oh well, at least I got another glimpse of her.

I nearly fell from the skies because I was laughing so hard.

Goth Girl was much more interesting than I took her for.


	6. Vampire Crossing

**6: Vampire Crossing**

The night was still young, though. No cliché intended. As fun as it had been, I wasn't going to basically stalk Goth Girl again. I'd occupy my time by doing something much less creepy and illegal. Painting. The perfect pastime; not to mention my perfect escape from the insanity of the world.

I couldn't go to the lovely clearing in Dullsville woods yet. I was sure that the blond dude was still lying there, wondering just how long girls took to slip out of their shirts. As much seeing his face when it was a Goth _guy_ who stepped out of the darkness instead of a Goth girl appealed to me, I refrained from reeking havoc on the poor boy's emotions. He was going to have to take a lot of therapy after tonight.

I landed gently back into my bedroom; the window was still open. Everything was the same as I left it. My untidy mattress, my stereo, my wall of paintings. I stared at the one of my grandparents absentmindedly, brushing the dirt off my black jeans. My hair was something out of Edward Scissorhands. It was all over the place. Even though I couldn't see it, I had a sense of knowing when my hair resembled a thorn bush.

As quickly as I could, I fished around my travel bag for a hairbrush and wrestled my wild man hair. I wasn't very fond of looking like I was on the show, _Survivor_. If I had worn my favorite tattered Nahema tee shirt, I'd really be achieving that style.

Eventually, I got my hair to behave. It was spiky and all over the place still, but less horrific. I was going to have to put some gel in when I got back home. I made a mental note to take a long and well deserved shower before that, though.

My grandparents had given me an inspiration. It was due for some Grandma-time anyway. I would visit her grave, pay my respects and then paint her monument. And besides; I'd been meaning to check out Dullsville's cemetery.

I ran down the stairs as fast as my Doc Martens allowed, a bucket of mixed paint, a canvas, and my lucky paintbrush in my hands.

Jameson was up from the basement, looking dusty and disheveled.

"Master Alexander?" Where are you going?" He asked, taking in my figure.

"Out," I answered curtly. I didn't mean to be rude ---I was just in a hurry.

"Did you eat?" He continued. I shook my head, and tried to smile. This was unbearable; the monument was calling me to paint it!

"Are you hungry?"

I shrugged. I didn't really know at the moment. I was neutral, I guess.

Jameson wasn't letting me go that easily. "Are you going to use intelligent, multi-worded sentences someday soon?" He asked, frustrated.

I shook my head and flung my coat on. He grunted unhappily and shuffled out into the dining room. Well, at least my plan was working.

I was still angry about the whole near-engagement thing. To punish them all, I was on a talking strike. It was immature and childish. Not to mention stupid. But I did it anyway. I highly doubted it would last long though; more likely I would forget about my oath in a few days.

I slammed the door behind me, rocking the 's' shaped serpent knocker. The emerald eyes of the snake winked at me.

Nobody was around the mansion as I opened the gate. Why would they be hanging out on a desolate country road anyway? My ears picked up the evanescent whisper of a car.

Because there wasn't a human peering at me from the bushes or something, I decided to risk walking in the middle of the dirt path, which all the town's people here tried to pass off as a street. When I lived in New York City and London, I could never do that. It was nice to have a little more freedom, no matter how insignificant.

I closed my eyes and felt the breeze tickling my neck even though I had on a heavy black coat. Dullsville was pretty okay, I had to admit. A Goth Girl, a scenic place to paint or two . . . I had a feeling deep in my gut that I was going to like living in this place . . .

I could here the car coming closer. But it couldn't be too close; I couldn't see any head lights.

I walked down the road, my paint bucket bumping against my thigh. The country was relaxing. So quiet and tranquil ---and cold. I shrugged my coat closer, humming softly to myself in order to fill the silence.

Suddenly, headlights glared at me, speeding up. The light stung and burned into my skin, like someone was pressing a cigarette against it. I threw my arm up to shield my eyes from the death glow the headlights were making. I'm usually okay around artificial lights, but if it was something powerful, it repelled me like bug spray to a cockroach.

Then it came to me._ The car was still moving._ I snapped into action the second the driver stomped on the brakes, mere inches from me. Abandoning the paint can, I dove to the side of the road with a _Dukes of Hazard _move. I heard a thud, and then got sprayed in the face with the think red paint. Not screaming from the burning chemicals in my eyes was a very difficult process. I'm not sure how I endured that in silence.

I rubbed my eyes furiously, tearing up a little. Damn. Who knew paint was so cruelly harmful?!

While two girls were arguing in the car ---they were talking loudly, so I immediately assumed that they were up to a spat--- I changed in to a bat. It seemed I was doing a lot of fleeing lately. I zipped into the sky like a furry cannonball, wondering how I was constantly finding myself in these situations.

Maybe it was because I had been flying so frequently, or maybe it had something to do with the fact my eyes were burning so badly from the paint I thought I would go blind, but I transformed against my will, back into a boy, as I zipped above the balcony. I landed with a crash on to the wooden floor, making my stomach and the rest of my front smart from the belly flop. I moaned, curling up into a ball. Why was I always freaking tortured?! After letting a stream of tears slide down my face, I grabbed a water bottle that was conveniently placed right next to me and attempted to drown out my eyeballs. Instant relief from that pain, at least. The belly flop on the hard wood was definitely going to bruise.

"Are you okay?" a girl called out to me. My heart thudded in my chest. Had that chick just seen me---?

I heard a door slam and open again.

"What are you doing?" Another girl asked, sounding worried.

"Searching," the first girl answered matter-of-factly. I stiffened and crawled off to hide behind one of my long curtains.

"For what?"

"There was some blood---"

"Blood?" The second girl screamed. "I've killed someone!"

"Calm down. It could have been a deer," the first girl said. I snorted. That wasn't very creative.

"A deer doesn't wear black jeans!" Girl number two argued. If I had been allowed to, I would have said something along the lines of, 'but a stylish deer does!' but I didn't think I could afford to have their attention to be directed towards me. So I had to play the don't-look-at-the-man-behind-the-curtain game. "I'm calling nine-one-one!"

"Go ahead ---but where's the body? You weren't fast enough to catapult him into the woods."

I chuckled. They would have had to have been driving a sixteen wheeler in order to do that. A pickup truck like theirs would have turned into a pizza had they actually rammed me.

"Maybe he's under the truck!"

"I already looked. You probably just bumped him and he took off. But I want to make sure."

I rolled my eyes and attempted to disengage myself from listening in anymore. But still, I couldn't help it. After listening to girl number two talk a little in a low voice so I wasn't able to understand, she finally spoke up a little. "Don't go! Let's get out of here! I'm calling nine-one-one!"

"Lock the door if you have to," the first girl snapped. "But keep the engine and the lights on."

"Raven, tell me this . . . what normal guy would be walking in the middle of a pitch black road? Do you think he might be a---?"

A what? An innocent guy who was considering calling the cops himself because he was nearly mowed over by a farmer's vehicle that didn't have its head lights on? Um, yeah, I totally was!

"Becky, don't get my hopes up!" The first girl sounded excited.

The night was quiet for a moment. I almost looked over to see if the coast was clear. And then, she screamed, which made me shrink into the shadows even more.

"What is it?" The second girl asked, terrified. I wondered the exact same thing. There was a shuffling sound, and then a resounding clang.

"Is he dead?" Wow, the second girl was paranoid.

"No, but I think you may have killed his can," the first girl said, not as panicked anymore. "What was he doing painting in the middle of the night? And where was he going?"

"It was just paint!" the second girl sighed, relieved. I heard a cell phone click shut and an engine revving. "Let's get out of here!"

The car door opened, but didn't shut.

"What was that jerk doing walking around in the middle of the road at night?" The first girl wondered, and then hopped in.

There was something wrong with that chick. There was seriously something wrong with her. Drugs must have dealt a horrible blow to her state of mind, and her friend needed some serious tranquilizers. That was the only way I could explain to myself why she seemed to think I was a jerk for almost being a victim in a car accident.

I turned on my lamp as soon as I was sure they were gone.

I had learned only one thing that night.

Some one in Dullsville needed driving lessons.


	7. Abandon All

**7: Abandon All**

Days flew by in Dullsville. My father restored his old job as an art dealer, and my mother went with him. At first, I was starting to wonder why it hadn't happened yet. Why they hadn't left to visit a gallery in Paris or something, I mean. They didn't need to stay here in my self-imposed purgatory. Finally, it happened. And the worst part about it was that it happened at breakfast. You can bet that sure put a damper to my evening.

My mom, dad and I were sitting in our antique Victorian dining chairs, on opposite ends at the old, Frankenstein-sized table. It was unusually quiet, due to my silence oath. The clock chimed. One, two . . . I counted up to six. Breakfast at six o'clock in the evening. Yes, sir. We were undeniably freaks.

My dad cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. If it was a way to gain my attention, I disappointed him. I went on spearing my eggs with my fork, not looking at him, but becoming suddenly engrossed with the bottle of blood in front of me. Hmmm . . . so that's how many calories were in my diet.

"Alexander, we have some bad news," my father approached the subject cautiously.

I gave my toast the death glare. "I don't have another fiancé, do I? I'm out of ideas for hiding places." Damn. Broke my oath.

"No!" My father assured me. I popped some of the raw bacon into my mouth.

"No, it's about my job . . . ." He trailed off, no doubt hoping for me to speak again. I wasn't going to take the bait just yet.

"Your father has to go back to Romania," my mom said quickly, as if by saying it fast it would come up with a different, less depressed result.

_Take me with you!_

"And, honey, you're old enough to be in America yourself, and you have Jameson with you."

I was almost insulted. I certainly _was_ old enough to watch my own back in another country without parental supervision. It wasn't like I was the party-throwing, frat boy type.

But what she said confirmed my suspicions. They were taking off together.

I nodded my head for her to get the message that I knew.

She looked surprised. "You're taking this well," she observed.

I nodded and swigged the bottle in front of me. Blech! Too cold! I guess I waited too long to drink. Blood's always better when it's warm.

"Well, then it's settled. Your mother and I are going to Romania!" My father grinned. When I looked up glumly and saw my mother give him a withering glance, he looked sheepish. "But I'm very sorry we can't bring you. It's just that bringing you to Romania now isn't the very wise," he finished lamely. Yeah, yeah Dad; if you wanted to screw Mom so bad you didn't need to flee the country for my benefit. I'm grateful that you were thinking how much that would affect my subconscious, being trapped in a house with super hearing while an act like that was being committed, but you didn't have to pull drastic stunts like this.

A lead weight was forming in my chest, smothering my black heart. I was going to miss them, but they deserved to live the life they wanted, not hiding with me.

"We're leaving in a week or so," my mom said brightly.

Yippee. I could barely contain myself.

And yes, that _was_ sarcasm you just read.

"May I be excused?" I asked woodenly. Without an answer, I grabbed my plate and escaped to the kitchen.

A week. Or more. That's all I had left with my parents before they vamoosed to the only place I would ever truly consider my home.

I sprawled myself out on the roof top, which was conveniently located right next to my bedroom balcony window. Stars twinkled at me, furtively attempting to soothe my aching heart. I really did love them. It might not have seemed like it to most people, but I cared the most about them. And Jameson too.

The wooden shingles were both comforting and uncomfortable at the same time, if that made sense. It was nice to know something solid was beneath me, but the shingles were poking into my back. Not wanting to live out the rest of eternity as a cripple, I sat up.

I never really mentioned it in detail before, but the view was amazing. Well over forty feet below my perch was the weedy lawn, brown with age. The gates were rusty from disuse, but impressive and overpowering still. Oaks, pines, weeping willows and various other species surrounded the Mansion like a jungle. An occasional car whizzed by on the dirt-path-road thing.

A pickup truck made its way past my house as I watched from above. My muscles tensed and I nearly fell four stories. I may be immortal, but that would hurt. A lot.

It had to be that car; I would recognize that front bumper anywhere, considering the fact it tried to make me road-pizza a week ago.

But it wasn't the same car, so I loosened my tightened muscles. Maybe I was suffering from a bizarre car phobia? A car phobic vampire. The irony was amazing. When vampires drive, we tend to surpass the speed limit immensely.

I would have to remind myself to attack that horrid blue pickup. Possibly slash a few tires; nothing flashy.

I had finished the painting of Grandma's monument the day before, and my creativity inspiration was yet to be found. If I could, I would paint the clearing in the woods, but it had disappeared like a mirage in a desert. And I certainly wasn't going to paint _her._

I was ignoring her. Goth Girl never existed. She was a figment of a very lonely Goth Boy's imagination. Nothing more, and possibly less. I forgot her.

At least, that's what I urged myself to do. It's what I should have done.

But I couldn't help it. Her face was permanently tattooed into my memory.

Well, hopefully by the time my favorite holiday rolls around ---tomorrow--- I would completely forget her. After all, Halloween was said to be magical.


	8. Happy Halloween

**8: Happy Halloween**

The next night I woke from my coffin, excitement was making my stomach churn pleasantly.

Halloween. The single holiday that beat the heck out of Christmas, my birthday and the fourth of July. Today I wasn't stared at like a circus freak. Today I actually fit in.

I squeezed into a tight black tee shirt and black jeans, tucking them into monster-chic punk-rock combat boots, whistling the theme to _the Exorcist_ as I got dressed. After wrestling with my hair until all the spikes were gone and my hair was straight and smooth on my shoulders, I bounced down the staircase.

Jameson eyed me and my high spirits suspiciously. "Why are you so happy? You didn't murder anybody, did you?"

I shrugged, grinning at him. Jameson arched his eyebrows. "Well . . . you're up to _something . . ."_

"Oh, am I?" I asked, my eyes innocent. Jameson didn't deserve to get the cold shoulder, I decided. But I was still ignoring my parents until further notice. "Maybe I just like Thursdays, did you ever think of that?"

I walked past him to look out the dining room window. The velvet curtain was moth bitten and heavy, as I found out when I shifted it out of my line of vision. I peered out the slightly grimy panes. And then I nearly had a cardiac arrest on the carpet.

"Oh, God! Jameson! Please . . . _please_ . . . tell me you bought candy?!" I asked, half strangled. My hand was gripping my chest for dear life.

Jameson nodded and pointed to the antique cauldron filled to the top with candy. When I say antique, it was really bought at the local Wal-Mart just the other day. Black plastic, but realistic looking at least. Jameson promised to let me keep it after this.

I looked at it, my black eyes wide. "Jameson," I whispered. "I don't think you bought enough candy."

"Master Alexander, please excuse me for saying so, but you're not eating our entire stock again this year, so don't get your hopes up." He shielded the candy protectively.

I frowned. Jameson was being unfair. That only happened four times. "Oh, it's not _me_ you have to worry about this year. I think you're going to have your hands full with these people." I thrust the curtain completely open, revealing an enormous line of trick-or-treaters from the front door and out into the streets. It seemed like all of America was plunged into starvation and had come begging for candy at our house.

I left Jameson to freak out about it, and grabbed a Hershey bar as I retreated back into my room.

Jameson had installed a secret door behind my easy chair while I had been asleep. I thought I heard banging last night, although my suspicions were less innocent than a door installation. But that certainly explained the noise.

The room was exactly like my other one in Romania, right down to the skeleton key and the stark walls.

I picked up my simple black coffin tenderly, so as not to damage it, and swung open the narrow door. The stairs were short and hard to see, even with my enhanced abilities. If I had been human, I would have tripped and broken my neck, or some other fairly important part of my body.

After I had placed it down and made a circle of Romanian soil around it, I left the depressing little room and emerged into my bedroom.

As the Cure blared in the background, I checked to see if the most ridiculous amount of Bart Simpson and punks wielding pillow cases had dissipated somewhat. They had, but strangely, I missed them. Jameson must have been shelling out those Sweet Tarts at super speed, because only Charlie Brown, a witch a baseball player and Batman were waiting at the front steps. I opened the door on my balcony so I could escape to the outside for a little while. A slight breeze caressed my face. What a beautiful October night. The mystery was almost tangible in the brisk autumn air. I thrilled to it.

A car pulled up next to the gate, parking next to a fir tree. Down below, I heard Jameson apologizing to the kids about the shortage of candy. I giggled and made a mental note to tell him 'I told you so' and rub it in his face later on.

I stopped looking up at the stars and glanced downward again. Batman and the baseball player were chatting with a couple of teenagers. One of them was a less hideous version of Witchypoo from H&R Puffenstuff, and the other girl was a tennis player. I stared at her unmasked incredulity. Who in Dullsville would think _that_ was a costume? She had obviously misplaced hers and was wearing this as a joke. That was the only explanation that made sense to me. The teenage girls said their good byes to the two little boys, and stepped up to the door.

I heard a knock. Nobody answered Jameson was wrecked because of the candy fiasco it seemed, and was too tuckered out to get it. The girls ---or at least one of them--- got fed up when nobody answered for the second time they knocked.

"Let's go," Witchypoo suggested, obviously not a fan of the night.

"No, we waited forever for this!" The odd girl in the tennis outfit protested. I snorted at her exaggeration. They had only been waiting five minutes, tops. "I'm not turning back until I get some candy. He owes us!" For what, exactly? Poor Jameson; I pitied him because of his candy duty.

"I'm tired. We've been out all night. It's probably just some creepy old guy who wants to go to bed. And I do, too," the other girl whined.

I sniffed. Creepy? If she considered Jameson creepy, she would no doubt crown me the _Prince_ of Oddity. Just what was so odd about us? It wasn't like she genuinely _knew_ what we were.

"We can't leave now," the tennis player said firmly. She gripped her expensive ---and lethal--- looking racquet.

I stopped eavesdropping in disgust. So. We were just the creepy Mansion family, were we? Just a big mystery that needed solving? Was that it? I was angry enough to dump paint on these girls. And not just any paint. My favorite; black.

Witchypoo retreated back to her pickup, leaving Tennis Girl behind. _What was with Dullsvillians and pickups? _Was there, like, no other car options for teenagers in this town?!

Tennis girl was making so much noise, I suspected that she was whacking the door with her racquet. Jameson was not going to be happy about this.

Tennis Girl dashed to the side of the Mansion, her black hair whipping around her, searching for another means of entry. I made a mental note to tell Jameson to work on the window down there; apparently, kids had been breaking in by that window when we were touring the world. That's when a very irritable Jameson unlatched the door. She heard him and ran back to the doorstep, grinning. When he opened it up, letting a sliver of light out, she took in his form. I expected screaming; let's face it, Jameson's like a pale Frankenstein. But Tennis Girl had a sappy expression on her face. Maybe _we _weren't the odd ones.

"We have no more candy, miss," Jameson apologized, his voice deep and very foreign.

"Really? But you must have something. Some peanut butter twists? A piece of toast?" Tennis Girl persisted. I hoped she wouldn't notice me looking over the balcony, watching her. She must have felt something though, because she looked Jameson straight in the eye, and said boldly, "Who else lives here? Do you have a son?"

I guffawed. If he was my father, I was very thankful I wasn't swimming on his end of the gene pool when it came to looks.

"I don't have any children, miss. And I'm sorry, but we don't have a crumb left." He made a move to shut the door. But he wasn't getting away that easily.

"Wait!" Tennis Girl cried out hastily. She dug in her pumpkin basket and fished out a Snickers and a spider ring. Two of my most favorite Halloween treats. "I'd like to welcome you to the neighborhood. This is my favorite candy and my favorite Halloween treat. I hope you like them too," she said kindly, dumping the goods into Jameson's outstretched hand. Jameson treated her to one of his creaky, crackly smiles.

"See you!" Tennis Girl sashayed down the steps. She spun around as soon as Jameson slammed the door. The pink tennis skirt twirled around as she span, her black hair flowing around her. A big, wide smile flashed in the darkness, as bright as starlight, and her eyes were blissfully closed. I felt my heart pound. Tennis Girl was almost as inhumanly beautiful as Goth Girl. I wondered who I would get along with more; the odd Tennis Girl or the ravishing Goth Girl. What would she do if she saw me? I sighed and closed the door behind me as I went inside. I took another peek.

If it hadn't been for all those _ER_ episodes I watched, I would have died choking on my Hershey's bar.

She was staring at me! I vary quickly hid behind my dark curtains. Inch by inch, I moved enough to allow me to peer through the gap the curtains made. Tennis Girl had made it a little past the iron gate. My heart sank. I would have liked to have been her friend. And that's when a vampire and a farmer drove up to her in a red Camaro.

While the farmer drove very carefully, the blond vampire opened the window and called out in an arrogant tone, "Want a ride, little girl?" The vampire's lips were a ridiculous shade of red, like Bozo the clown's. He even had the standard cape, slicked back hair and fake fangs. I sniffed at his outfit in a contemptuous way.

Tennis Girl wasn't swayed. "My mother told me not to talk to strangers," she snapped, chewing on a Mary Jane.

"I'm not a stranger, babe. Aren't you too old to be trick-or-treating?"

"Aren't you too old to be toilet-papering the town?" She shot back. The blond vampire hopped out of the car and strode over to her.

"What are you supposed to be?" He asked, smirking.

"I'm dressed up as a freak, can't you tell?" this confused me. Okay, she definitely had not misplaced her costume then. But why would she think that . . . ?

The slicked back Dracula shrugged. "So you're visiting Amityville by yourself?" He gave the Mansion a disparaging look. "You're a wicked chick, aren't you?"

Tennis Girl was silent.

"I bet you've never kissed a vampire before," he flirted shamelessly. Honestly, the things human teenagers say these days. Had they no intelligent means of getting the opposite sex's attention, besides reciting corny lines that they picked up someplace? Okay, that one was more original, but it was still corny.

A strange surge of sympathy flooded through me. She didn't have to put up with this. Heck, she deserved the world. I would have gladly hung out with her, eating Snickers and swapping spider rings.

"Well, when you see one, let me know," she said sarcastically, then walked away. Or at least tried to ---the jerk grabbed her arm. "Give it a rest, Trevor!" She ordered.

Instead of letting her go, like any respectful gentleman would have, he pulled her closer. "Well, I've never kissed a tennis player," he joked. I put a hand over my mouth to keep from throwing up, it was such a corny line. It was even more of a strain on my stomach when he kissed her ---full on tongue. She would push him away, I knew she would.

She let him kiss her, seeming to enjoy it. I wondered idly if there was Prozac hidden in that Mary Jane she just ate.

Finally, after three minutes ---yes, I was so disgusted, I counted--- the blond vampire gave a gasp of air. About time too; I was starting to worry that his tongue might get caught down her throat.

Tennis Girl broke free of his grasp. "Well, no you have! I think Farmer Matt is waiting for you!"

"He wasn't surrendering. "I didn't get any candy!" He snatched a Snickers bar from her pumpkin basket. And that's when she got pissed off.

"Hey, that's my favorite! Take a peanut butter twist."

As he scarfed down the snickers ---rivaling snakes eating rats on the discovery channel, I might add--- his fake fangs fell out on to the pavement, dripping in candy bar spit. Disgusting. But apparently not for Tennis Girl. She bent down to pick them up, but the blond vampire grabbed her arm, scattering candy everywhere.

"Look what you've done!" Tennis Girl yelled at him, her nose flared.

He scooped up fistfuls of her Halloween goods and stuffed them into his blue jeans. All the things he couldn't manage to steal, he threw on the lawn.

"Still want to be an item?" He asked, pulling her to him. I resisted the burning need to throw my easel ---which was sitting very temptingly close to me--- down at his head. "Still want to be my girlfriend?"

Then, out of nowhere, he released her and whirled around to face the Mansion. "Now I'll get some real candy."

If we had some, I'd shove the whole cauldron of it down his throat.

Now it was Tennis Girl who grabbed his arm. He looked down at her, startled. "Miss me already?"

Her jaw was set in acute restraint. "They're out of candy."

"Well, I'll just see about that!" The blond vampire said menacingly.

"Their lights are off. They all went to sleep."

The smirk on his face was huge. "This'll wake them up." He whipped out a can of spray paint from under his silk cape. "They definitely need someone who knows how to decorate!" He lunged for the Mansion, Tennis Girl hot on his heels.

"No, Trevor. Don't!"

The blond vampire brushed past her.

"No!" She shouted.

And that's when I finally snapped out of it. I was prepared to run like Hell to the front door, when I was able to catch the look on Tennis Girl's face. Her eyebrows were knit together in frustration and concentration. She brought her arm back, and smacked both the spray paint and the guy's hand with her racquet. I thundered down the staircase as I heard the blond vampire scream as if in a horror movie.

"As quickly as I could, I flicked the front door light on and undid all of the many latches and bolts on the front door. Dear old Grandma had horrible paranoia when she was alive.

I threw open the door. And looked at her up close.

Tennis Girl was motionless, her black eyes wide. They were everything and more; lonely, intelligent, lovely, dreamy and full of life. She was studying me as closely as I was studying her. Her face was pale as chalk and narrow, like mine. If it wasn't for the preppy clothes, we could have been the only Goths in Dullsville. In fact, there was something vaguely similar about her. And then it clunked into place. I had been so stupid. How could I not have realized---?!

She took off like a startled deer, the blond vampire who had been clutching his hand in pain was right behind her. "You monster! You broke my hand!" Good, I thought. You were lucky it was your hand and not your neck.

She sped through the open gate and hopped into the Camaro, startling the farmer at the wheel.

"Drive me home!" She screeched. "Now!" When she saw the farmer's reluctance, she added, "Drive me now! Or I'll tell the police you were involved!"

That got him motivated. "The police? What's Trevor got us into now?"

The enraged count was racing up the driveway, his cape fluttering in the breeze. But I couldn't stop staring at the girl. She glanced up at me and must have thought I was possessed or something, because she sounded pretty desperate when she ordered the farmer to, "Drive! Just drive the freakin' car!" My ears hurt from all the screaming.

The engine revved and they squealed off the curb and down the road at speeds that I've only seen in one of Jameson's police dramas that he's so fond of. What was the series called? Oh yeah; _Law and Order._

The blond vampire was swearing at the top of his lungs, turning out of the front gate until he disappeared from my line of sight.

I sank to the wooden porch and sighed. "Happy Halloween," I muttered.

And that's when something caught my eye. In the moonlight, I could see a tennis racquet gleaming.

I would have to return it to Tennis Girl. Or should I say, Goth Girl.


	9. Looking For an Angel

**9: Looking For an Angel **

"Jameson, could you do me a favor?" I asked. The tennis racquet was in my hand, and I twirled it around with my fingers.

"Yes?" Jameson answered. His eyes darted to my hand and the fancy racquet. "Do you want me to teach you a few swings?"

I stared at him in utter disbelief. "Not to be rude, but I'll only want to play tennis when Hell freezes over." I watched his face fell. "It's just that a girl dropped it here a little while ago, and I was wondering if you could return it . . . ."

"Why would she leave it here in the first place? It's not like this is a tennis donation or something."

Damn it all! Why is it that _today_ Jameson decided to ask questions? "Um," I stammered. "Well, uh, she kind of dropped it while she was running away from me . . . ."

Both of his eyebrows shot up. Way up. "You scared her off? I'm never letting you open the door again if you're going to chase after all the girls. We don't need you to get a reputation as a lecher."

"It wasn't my fault!" I cried, indignant by his assumption. Lecher, indeed. I sniffed. "She must have thought I was going to send rottweilers after her because of the spray paint thing."

"_Spray paint?!" _Jameson sputtered. Oops. Bad move on my part.

"Oh, she wasn't the one trying to do it," I assured him. "Some guy was. But she took him out with this racquet like a gang leader."

He frowned. "If it was of any important value, she wouldn't have forgotten it. Let's wait for her to show up."

"No!" I snapped. Jameson looked at me in surprise. "Well, I kind of wanted to keep this as a hostage."

If I had shot him with a rifle he couldn't have been more shocked.

"Master Alexander?" He said flatly. "You aren't planning on _eating_ the young lady, are you?"

"Oh yeah, Jameson. I'm making it a habit to eat hot girls," I said, very sarcastic.

"Hot?" Jameson wondered, looking confused. He really needed to get out more. You'd think that he would have picked up on the lingo nowadays since he mingles with more people than I do, but no. "You like her?"

Alright, so he got the context of the word. But you can imagine the uncomfortable silence that followed. I wasn't happy with letting my parents in on my love life, let alone my butler.

But I didn't lie. Not that I could have gotten away with it, because I could feel my cheeks flaming. Why did my cheeks have something against me? Why couldn't they stay the same color and _not_ blush. It was embarrassing and totally inconvenient.

"Kind of," I murmured, looking down at my combat boots. I wished I could melt into the background.

"Alright," Jameson agreed. "I'll do it. It's about time you acted like a normal seventeen year old for a change!"

I couldn't believe it. I looked up and grinned happily. "Thanks, Jameson." Than a horrible thought came into my mind. "Just do me a tiny thing more . . . ."

"What is it, Master Alexander?"

"Please, whatever you do, _don't_ ask her out for me. I have pride, you know." I was contemplating violence if he blew me off. And he must have known it too, because he nodded, wide-eyed. But he got his revenge soon enough.

"Little Alex has a crush," he teased. And then he started singing some of his precious Barry White songs.

I just stared at him, mortified. "I should have never said anything to you," I muttered, wishing I could bang my head against the wall. Too bad I wasn't itching for a concussion.

I closed the hidden door to the little room behind my easy chair. That good old chair had stood guard in front of the hidden room's door like an ancient Roman pillar.

My coffin sat ominously in the middle of the ring of dirt, just like I left it. I lit a half melted candle and placed it on a low table. The candlelight flickered and danced around the bare walls.

I sighed. This was the time I wished I could be a human more than anything. I hated closing myself off to the world, no matter even if I didn't fit in it.

I slipped out of my clothes and wrestled on my Atreyu night set and then collapsed into my coffin. In less then five minutes, dawn would break. In less then five minutes, I would isolate myself further from everyone. Jameson, my favorite bands, sunshine, waterfalls, rainbows and even Goth Girl.

Sometimes life as a vampire really sucked.

I heard my alarm clock go off, but I just pulled my black comforter over my head and tried to ignore it. But it turns out that it isn't that easy to ignore _the Omen_ theme song.

"Ugh," I groaned, and opened the lid just enough to slip my hand out and grab my alarm. I chucked it against the wall and heard an earsplitting crash.

Satisfied, I pulled my hand back in and fell back to sleep.

But what I couldn't throw against the wall to shut up was my mother. Not unless I wanted to get disowned and smacked with a lawsuit.

"Alexander," she called, knocking on my coffin lid. How the Hell did she get a key into here? I thought there was only one ---and I was currently guarding it under my pillow.

"Hmmm?" I grumbled.

"Your father and I are going to a restaurant named Georgio's. Jameson's going to stay here with you, okay?"

"Yeah, sure, Mom. Whatever. Do what you like," I muttered groggily. Because I was in such a daze, I forgot my silence oath. Oh well. She picked a good time to bug me.

"We're going back to Bucharest in two days," she said conversationally. If that was supposed to raise my spirits, she was delusional.

"Send me a post card."

"Alexander, do me a favor," she said severely.

"I promise not to have unprotected sex," I swore, using my three fingers to make a boy scout's salute. Not that she could see it. "And I also promise to use Trojans. I hear they are a very popular brand."

My mother laughed. "I was counting on that. But really, try to have fun and make friends."

I said nothing. I wasn't going to make friends with anybody in Dullsville. I highly doubted if they were allowed to stay up late anyway. Probably had a curfew. Possibly even a bed time at eight o'clock the latest.

Humans were weird that way, I guess. At least humans in Dullsville.

"Alexander? Honey?" She opened the lid, blinding me with the blaze of the candle. I blinked wildly, trying to adapt to the light.

"Jeez, Mom! Give me more of a warning next time you do that," I snapped, burying my head into my pillow.

"Oh, come on. Get out of bed," she demanded, poking me in between the shoulder blades with a black talon. Well, to be perfectly honest, it was more of a sharp stabbing than a simple poke.

"Ughhh . . . ." I said, slapping her finger away. She'd have to pry me out with a crow bar.

"I have something for you," she said in a sing-song voice.

"A new set of paint brushes?" I asked hopefully.

"You have to get up in order to see for yourself."

I reluctantly rolled out of my coffin and stood up to face her. "What is it?" I sighed.

She held out eight ginormous textbooks. "We got them yesterday. Now, if we could just find you a tutor---"

I glared at her and threw myself back into bed, slamming the lid behind me. "Thanks for ruining my day, Mom," I hissed. The irony of this sentence hit me. Technically she couldn't ruin my day because I couldn't survive the sunlight anyway.

"Alexander." Her voice wasn't very gentle. "Get out of that coffin right now, or I'll drag you out!" She yanked the lid open again.

"Oh, o away!" I mumbled into the silken interior. "I'll study by myself. Don't get some hack to teach me again."

"Stop being anti-social!"

"I'm not anti-social, I'm anti-hack."

She growled. "You have to learn about important things. Socializing is one of them."

"I'll learn them by myself."

I heard an irritated sigh. "Fine! Have it your way," she said. "Give us a call in Bucharest, okay? Romania won't be the same without you."

"Sure, sure . . . ." I glanced up to look at her. Her eyes were sad. "I'll miss you," I added, trying to make her happier.

"I'll miss you too, baby!" She cooed, hugging me tightly. I could smell her lavender perfume. It was comforting.

"Mom!" I mumbled, embarrassed. She let go of me and scurried out of the door.

I blew out the candle and followed her, leaving my coffin open and unmade, just the way I liked it.

It was pretty quiet. While Mom and Dad were at Georgio's ---an Italian restaurant, God have mercy on their souls--- Jameson told me of his adventure at Dullsville High school.

He had taken his job as an angel searcher very seriously. Or so he said.

"I checked everyone in the halls for some black lipstick. Nobody had it on. And when I told the receptionist that the girl was wearing a tennis outfit for Halloween, she just laughed at me. I was going to go back home with the racquet, when a blond boy stopped me," Jameson recalled. I snapped to attention when he mentioned a blond boy. Was it the same lecher that attacked her? The same one she ditched in the woods?

"What did he say?" I asked, intense.

"He explained that the racquet was his girlfriend's. He told me her name and address to back up the story. I gave him the racquet."

That blond jerk was such a liar. I may be inexperienced when it came to couples, but I was pretty sure that someone in love with you wasn't supposed to hit your hand with a racquet.

"Jameson," I said, my excitement growing. "What was her name?"

"The girl's name is Raven Madison," he said, exhausted. "I'm deeply sorry, Master Alexander, but today was extremely tiring for me. I'm going to watch _Law and Order: S.V.U. _now." He flicked on the channel and put his feet up on the black silk obelisk.

Raven. Absolutely exquisite. Graceful, flighty, fun, delicate, robust and melodic. Her name was Raven. You don't bump into a lot of Ravens in your lifetime.

I settled into the black leather couch with Jameson and watched as Olivia and Sully tried to find the man who raped a child someplace in the Bronx.

I was going to meet her. I was going to meet Raven Madison. I wanted to. I _needed_ to.


	10. Boredom in the form of Pills

**10: Boredom in the form of Pills**

I sat there in the darkness of the movie house, a box of popcorn in my lap, and my eyes glued to the screen. They were showing a newer version of one of my favorite movies ---_Dance with a Vampire_. It was very interesting compared to the 1960's version. More color and life to it all, and Rollo Weeks played a very good lead vampire. But that little kid in it that kept interrupting him and his girlfriend—who was played by Amy Lee—was very annoying. I wished I could kick him at the end of it. I mean, seriously. He was basically the reason why Rollo had to run off and leave Amy! I would have seriously been pissed.

A couple were making out in the front row. Two teenage girls —neither of them the one I pined for—were in the seats behind me. I was the only one paying attention to the movie.

"Oh my Gawd! Who is that guy? He's hot. Wonder if he'd do me if I asked?" A redhead whispered to her curly blond friend. I tried to ignore them, but they were shouting-whispering, so it was hard. I felt their eyes burning the back of my neck. They were talking about me. Not the way I was used to, but they were talking about me anyway.

"It's the ghost guy, Shellie," the blond explained. That's more like it. "But don't get your hopes up. He lives with someone already. A creepy old dude. Probably shacks up with him. All the hot ones are gay. And he may be good looking, but only some loser crazy person goes to the movies on a Friday night alone. It's, like, against the law not to have a date."

"Will you and your _date _kindly shut up? Some of us are trying to watch," I snapped. I was slightly frazzled about the me-shacking-up-with-Jameson comment. Hardly.

They jerked back in surprise, mouths agape. I smiled, flashing my fangs. I was totally enjoying this. The redhead gave an audible gasp. I turned back to the screen in satisfaction.

"God, he is _so_ rude," the blond muttered. "They should keep out all the rude people."

"Yeah, I know, right? I highly doubt that you'd have made it past the guards," I said nastily. She gave me an unpleasant look which I returned with a comment I had heard on one of my parent's videos I wasn't supposed to watch. It was so offensive that even _I _blushed.

"He did _not_ just say that."

"You can bet your lip hair remover that I just did," I retorted. "And by the way, you missed a spot while shaving this morning. It's right _here."_ I then proceeded to dump my giant can of crème soda over her head. The blond started screaming and ran for the door with the redhead hot on her heels wearing an alarmed expression.

The couple broke apart from each other's lips to stare at me. I made a rude hand signal and they went back to kissing again.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

After the movie, I collected my stuff from the Mansion and set up my art studio in the cemetery. A heavy fog was rolling in and cascading over the tombstones. The moon was a parchment color —the standard coloring for a harvest moon— and the night sky had a purple hue to it, the stars shimmering and twinkling like someone threw an oceanful of glitter into it.

I had brought only three cans with me today. Purple, blue, and red. This was going to be more challenging than normal. Why didn't I bring my water colors tonight? My grip intensified around my lucky black paintbrush.

Paint splattered everywhere as I stroked as lightly as I could —which wasn't light at all. But after two hours worth of hard work and talent, I managed to make it resemble the graveyard.

Happy with what I had done, I wiped my mouth and accidentally smudged red paint on my chin. That reminded me —I had skipped lunch _and_ breakfast. I scampered out of the pen gate and started the hike to Benson hill, where the Mansion was perched.

Earth made a squelching sound as I trudged through the mud. And then it happened. Headlights blared out of nowhere again. Luckily, I had had enough experience to change immediately. One time after being hit by an oncoming vehicle was enough to hone my reflexes.

The red Camaro drifted to a stop and a blond guy hopped out to inspect the place where I had been standing. My paint and my picture were in the bushes close by him.

After seeing that I was no where in sight, the guy shrugged and sped off.

I waited until I was sure no one was around before retrieving my painting.

Why is it I couldn't go anywhere without seeing that guy? I'd much rather see more of Raven Madison.

I wondered about my horrible fortune as I walked home.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jameson had gone to the Armstrong Travel Agency to get my parent's tickets to freedom. He told me about it in excruciating detail, boring me to an early death. That is, if I could actually die.

"And then there was a strange girl hiding behind a paper copier," he finished. I nodded politely but without interest.

After he was done recalling all that, I escaped to the den to watch some TV.

I relaxed on the black leather sofa and turned on the plasma screen.

Alright, I think it's pretty safe to say that I was bored. After watching three episodes of Inuyasha and finishing a full bottle of Coke, I started to zone out. I barely paid attention to Blood+ that was rerunning on adultswim. And I really liked those animes, too.

I ran to the bathroom and took a long shower. The hot water felt amazing. I lathered up my new Tag shampoo that was released in Romania and had yet to be released to the America populace. All my knotted up muscles relaxed, and by the time I came out I felt like a new man. A man that smelt like a pine tree.

After throwing on some black lounge pants and a really old Three Days Grace shirt, I went upstairs to get some well deserved z's. But before I did, I gulped down way more then the recommended dose of cold pills. I know that doing that isn't so smart, but hey—I was bored and willing to try anything for kicks.

By the time my head hit the pillow, I was out like a light.


	11. Cemetery Books and Candy Bars

**11: Cemetery Books and Candy Bars**

I had missed more than I had anticipated. Three days to be exact. Apparently Tylenol is stronger on vampires than humans. They should really put a warning label on these types of things! They obviously had some prejudice feelings towards vampires or something. Vamp-racists. Damn them all.

My parents had already flown the coop for their three month vacation/business trip. Yeah, I know. Would it have killed them to wake me up? Jameson was fixing me a huge breakfast by the time I finally came around. I could smell eggs and bacon from my bedroom.

After putting on a straight jacket vast and Tripp pants, I threw myself in the general direction of the dining room. Three days of excessive sleeping can do that to a guy.

A plate was already set on my side of the table. My stomach was not disappointed. The pewter plate was fully loaded with French toast, sausages and gourmet pancakes in the shape of bats. I shoveled it down in record time, like a starved animal.

"So where have you been, Master Alexander?" Jameson had walked in, holding a frying pan with eggs benedict sizzling. I eyed the pan greedily. Jameson was a good cook.

"Hibernating," I said in between mouthfuls. He pushed on the eggs benedict after I scooted my bacon aside eagerly. After drowning my breakfast in maple syrup we had imported from Canada, I attacked with gusto. He looked down at my ravenous display of behavior in disturbed amazement.

"You mean all this time you've been sleeping?"

"Yeah," I said with difficulty, because I had just stuffed the last of the French toast in my mouth. "Hey, Jameson. Do you know where I can buy a book around here?"

"Carlson's Book Store," he said, as if everybody held this as common knowledge.

"Excellent." I grinned and handed him my empty plate. I had found something to do today.

"Oh, and if you're going out can you pick something up for me?" Jameson asked.

I groaned. "Jameson, you remember the last time you sent me out to pick up your ointment! I was hit on by an old lady! Who was in her bunny slippers waiting in line to purchase Friskies cat food!" I shuddered at the memory. That lady was a relentless woman. I was always weary of old women now, especially ones with bizarre cat fetishes.

He glared at me. "Not _that_. I was just hoping that you could purchase a pack of candles. You can by them at 7-Eleven."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I took the Mercedes out for the first time in weeks. Jameson had given me explicit orders that if I were ever to so much as look in it's direction again, he'd send word to my parents immediately. Too bad when he wasn't paying attention I decided to conveniently forget those words.

Nothing that interesting happened. I abided the law and watched my speed carefully, and skirted around threatening old ladies that were scootering past. But that was all, really.

Carlson's Book Store was a small shop that I would have overlooked if Jameson hadn't given me directions. It was a brick hut more then a store, really.

The bell rang as I opened the door. Rows of shelves were lined up before me as I strolled down the aisles. I wondered if they had any books on Benson Hill cemetery. Grandma had to be mentioned in there; she had been the most generous donor when she had been alive.

They had it ---wedged behind several books on "How to Apply the Perfect Shade of Pink Lipstick" (blech, who would _read_ that garbage?)--- in the front of the store. The only one around in that area was a lady who looked like she spent _way_ too much time on a tanning bed. She looked at me incredulously. I supposed that would be natural, because I am abnormally pale, even to other vampires. But it was still very rude of her to do it so blatantly. I made it a point to ignore her as I leafed through the pages. Interesting. I was going to do a report on this because in order to pass home school, some participation was definitely required.

It was a rather big book considering it was about such a minuscule cemetery. Its width was around the same size as my middle finger. (that's about four to five inches) I shuddered to think what an impact it would make if I dropped it on my foot. That would definitely smart.

I bought it for further study and shoved it in my black book bag that I had brought along. When I stepped out into the dusk, I slipped on my Ray Bans sunglasses and ventured off to find some random 7-Eleven from which I could scrape a few candles from.

Those Ray Bans really were a good choice to wear tonight; the fluorescent lights coupled with the white linoleum of 7-Eleven were blinding me. My skin burned when I stepped in there. It was simply torturous for me to make another step. But I bravely walked on to the candles and grabbed the biggest box they had, risking my life.

7-Eleven wasn't packed tonight, like most of the places I visited often weren't. I was beginning to think that Dullsvillians were kind of like robots; they turned off by flipping a switch. The night life was scarce. No hip clubs. Nothin'.

I jumped on line behind someone, not really looking where I was going because I was distracted by advertisements and tabloids lining the counter. "I Gave Birth to a Two-Headed Vampire Baby" jumped out at me. I rolled my eyes in complete disgust. The things humans came up with were truly absurd. Anything for attention.

"Well, it must be true then!" A girl's voice came from in front of me. "Vampires do exist. I read it in _National Liar._" She and her friend giggled like school children.

I felt a spark of anger at what she said, and looked up at her to tell her off. And that's when all my anger drained away as my eyes popped out from behind my sunglasses and my jaw dropped.

Why? Because out of all the 7-Elevens in Dullsville, _Raven Madison was in this one!_ With _me,_ more importantly! She was holding a bottle of orange soda and nudging the brunette next to her playfully. Raven was breathtaking in her black spandex dress, which enunciated every curve, every delicate line in her form, her clunky black plastic bracelets which clung loosely to her feminine wrist, and black lipstick graced her soft looking lips, a vision of Gothic beauty.

She noticed me at almost the same time I noticed her, and whirled around to look at me in the face. I concentrated very hard on staring the Kit Kats down.

"Aren't you the guy----" She whispered, out of breath, like she had spotted Ozzy Osbourne.

"Next," the clerk ---who's name was Kris, judging by his name tag--- ordered, and I came up to the counter to purchase the candles and then get the heck outta there.

I tried to make my escape by losing Raven between two ladies ---one of them the tanning bed addict at Carlson's--- and managed to get out of 7-Eleven unscathed and unquestioned, escaping to the safety of my Mercedes. I am sorry to say that I was less cautious of the speed limit on my return trip. I pressed ninety miles per hour, almost running over a woman who looked suspiciously like cat-food-lady. She dived to the side at the last moment, causing me to laugh manically all the way back.

Revenge was sweet. Dearly sweet.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Here are your stupid candles," I grumbled, and threw them at Jameson, who had opened the door for me. He took note of my bad mood.

"Bad night?" He commented. His voice suggested he was taken aback by my hostile behavior. To bad. I grunted.

I saw the sun peek out behind some of the trees from the window. The moon would rise at anytime. And sure enough, I saw it floating over head.

"I saw her again," I explained. "And I split before I could talk to her."

Jameson tut-tutted and shook his head. "You'll never get her if you don't try."

"And what makes you so sure that if I'd try, I'd get her?" I demanded.

"Well for one, you have grown women falling for you. At least cat women." I scowled, and he changed tactic. "Just trust me on this. Try."

I sat down on a chair nearby. "It's okay. It's just a crush, is all. Nothing serious." Then why is it my heart was screaming in protest?

Jameson glared at me. "You better ask her out! Try to be a normal seventeen year old and not some hundred year old man!"

"For me, this is normal," I said. "Is there anything odd about that?'

He looked at me for a moment. "Yes," he stated matter-of-factly.

We got a good laugh out of that one. But my laugh was rather forced, because I knew he really thought that.

"Oh, and by the way ---have this. It seems about your size." Jameson held out his hand to give me something. I reached for it, and pulled back a spider ring, gleaming in the dim light.

It was the best gift I had ever received.

I grinned. "Thanks, Jameson!" I modeled it for him.

"It looks better on you then it does me," Jameson admitted.

I laughed and started to walk up the stairs to my room, but he stopped me. "Hold on, Master Alexander," Jameson called. "I'm going out for a little while. Don't blow up the house while I'm gone, okay?"

"I'll try to keep that in mind while I'm playing with dynamite."

I heard the door slam and lock. With Jameson out of the way, I rushed to my lonely attic room to blast the Smiths, and to daydream about several important things, mostly revolving around a girl who intimidated yet enthralled me with only her presence.

I dove onto my mattress and laced my hands behind my head. I watched a spider devour a fly from the large web it had spun in the corner of my room. It reminded me of that song; 'The Bird and the Worm' by the Used, I think it's called. That music video was awesome.

I sighed and rolled over. I wondered what Mom and Dad were up to. Hold on; on second thought, I decided to avoid that subject because I had a very explicit idea of what they could be doing.

Maybe I should visit the Mansion's library. Jameson had told me that he had fixed it up recently. Would it still look identical to the one in Romania, or did it change?

I wasn't able to explore this thought further however, because that's when I heard doors opening. Jameson couldn't be home that quick, could he? He would come up here and demand that I "turn off that screaming load of garbage" in a few seconds. I braced myself for an argument.

Nothing. Jameson was upstairs, but he wasn't coming to scold me. I heard the door underneath me open and the sound of the soft steps. That was my parents' room Jameson was snooping in! what was he doing in there, anyway? Borrowing my father's shaving cream? Panty Raiding my mother's drawers?

But no, these footsteps ---which were moving on to another part of the house--- were too light to belong to my eight foot tall butler.

My mother? Maybe she had come home early. Maybe Dad had quit his job and they flew back here early.

I whistled. My parents and I had come up with a way to check if we were nearby, which was a whistle that we got separated in a crowd at Disney World before.

No return whistles. My parents weren't here. Jameson was gone. I came up with only one possible answer to all this: the Maxwells.

They had found me. Somehow, they had found me and my hide out. I could only see one silver lining in all this. At least nobody was home with me. At least nobody else was going to get murdered. It would only be me, and the others would be spared.

I shut my stereo off and gently stood up. I wouldn't be killed without a fight. I slipped on my cleats and my spiked jewelry. I even put in my thorn earrings. And then I slipped down the stairs as quickly as I could.

I could hear Jagger thundering down the staircase and towards the front door.

"Oh, no you don't," I growled under my breath. "You're going to face me like a man, right here, right now."

I reached the bottom and headed down the hallway. Keys jingled frantically.

I wheeled around the corner to face . . . Jameson, opening the door, nothing in his hands from his shopping. Apparently, they didn't have what he was looking for.

I would have slumped back in disappointment if it hadn't been for one thing. A gust of wind came in at the exact minute Jameson opened the door, casting a medley of scents in my direction. Among them, I picked up the smell of human. Female human, to be exact. And it was coming from behind the red velvet curtains.

"I'm back," Jameson told me unnecessarily. "Wexley's will be delivering tomorrow as usual. I'm going to retire now." So that's where he had gone off to; the butcher.

I didn't respond, transfixed with the curtains. If I listened hard enough, I could hear the sound of a heart racing. . . .

"You can't get them to shut up when they're three, but when they're seventeen they won't even open they're mouths," he muttered grumpily, passing me. When he stopped near the basement, I heard him say, "Always leaving doors opened." And then he shut the door.

She tore herself away from the curtains she had been hiding under and ran to the door, unbolting all thirteen locks in quick precision. Suddenly, her back stiffened. She turned around slowly to face me.

Raven Madison was standing in my hallway, wearing a black turtleneck, black jeans, black backpack and black lipstick. She was motionless, just as I, studying me.

I extended my hand towards her to calm her down and to beckon her to me. Her deep, dreamy eyes darted to the spider ring that I was still wearing.

She looked back up at my face, her communicative gaze telling me she longed for me. My heart beat sporadically. I wanted to talk to her so badly, but my mouth had gone dry.

And then she was gone. She shot off like a bullet, out the door and across the lawn, scrambling up the gate. She swung a combat booted foot over the side before turning back to look at me. I felt the need to rush over to her and never part. But before I could, she slipped over the side and disappeared.

But her presence still haunted me. The very thought of her scent, the very remembrance of her heart beat . . . . I loved it all.

I loved her.


	12. author's note

**Author's note:**

**Hello, guys! I'll try to update as soon as I can, but I just need to get the first book from the library again. Sooooo….. Anyway! For those who enjoyed the story so far, do me a favor and comment on it, okay? I appreciate the personal messages you give me, but I'd like reviews more! **

**Also, I have come up with a play list for the chapters so far! Here it is:**

"**Starlight" play list **

Chapter 1: Little Monster: "Into the Ocean" by Blue October

Chapter 2: Shocking Revelations: "Riot" by Three Days Grace

Chapter 3: Flight or Bite: "Animal That I Have Become" by Three Days Grace

Chapter 4: Dullsville's Dream Girl: "Sally's Song" by Fiona Apple

Chapter 5: Out in the Woods: "Lying is the Most Fun a Girl can Have without Taking Her Clothes Off" by Panic! At the disco

Chapter 6: Vampire Crossing: "Woe" by Say Anything

Chapter 7: Abandon All: "We Are Broken" by Paramore

Chapter 8: Happy Halloween: "Insurance?" by the Higher

Chapter 9: Looking for an Angel: "Outside Looking In" by Jordan Pruitt

Chapter 10: Boredom in the Form of Pills: "Teenagers" by My Chemical Romance

Chapter 11: Cemetery Books and Candy Bars: "Waiting for You" by Jordan Pruitt

**Hope you guys like it! I'm going to add more when I make more chapters. **

**Spider rings and Snickers bars for you all, Danielle :D**


	13. Phone Call from the Underworld

**12: Phone Call from the Underworld**

I felt like I was flying.

So this is what love felt like? I never fathomed the depth of it; nothing could possibly accurately compare to this feeling. No writer I have ever come across had ever described how… drawn to someone a person could become.

I felt free ---freer than what I had been used to recently--- but at the same time I felt like I had a small, annoying weight sitting on my chest. She made my heart pound at astounding rates and made my whole body quiver with a need to be with her.

And it all happened because of a hot girl who had the potential of a thief; she could have robbed us blind if I hadn't caught her. There was seriously something wrong with me. No normal person, even a vampire, would ever have fallen in love with someone who had broken into their house.

But the fact that she trespassed sparked further interest in me. I don't think I've known a woman gutsy enough to accomplish that. No one. Not my mom, Mrs. Maxwell, or even Luna.

She wasn't like anyone I had ever met. Raven was original, a prized gem of the rarest quality ---at least to me, the poor excuse for a vampire.

I stumbled in through the front door, smiling like an idiot and feeling slightly dazed. She was having an unhealthy effect on me; and for some reason, I didn't mind.

Jameson was bustling in the kitchen when I managed to walk through the door without tripping over myself with my newly found, hormone-induced clumsiness. But my self-satisfaction ended when instead of tripping like I had anticipated, I ended up running into Jameson, who was holding a large bowl of salsa.

The force of our impact sent me to the floor and launched the super spicy jalapeño mixture into the air.

As if in slow motion, I watched as the bowl came closer and closer to my face in acute fascination. It was only until I was drowning in the goop that it finally registered in my mind to move.

Jameson was by my side with a towel at once, and handed it over to me. "Master Alexander, are you alright?"

I wiped my face and splashed some water on it when I wobbled my way over the sink. I was going to smell like a Tostitos party for a week.

"Yeah, I'm alright," I managed to say after spitting out a green pepper.

Jameson was staring at me strangely. "Are you sure you're quite alright, Master Alexander? Your voice sounds weird."

"How does it sound weird?" I asked, confused. I thought my Romanian accent wasn't there anymore.

"I don't know. . .it just seems. . .distant."

I considered this. "That may be because I saw Raven Madison today," I blurted out without thinking. Now that I was aware of it, my voice _did_ sound a bit off. Like I had just woken up or something.

I ran the water from the faucet again to get the rest of the tomatoes out of my hair. The spices were very strong; I could smell them, and they were burning my nostrils.

Over the sound of the running water I thought I heard Jameson's creepy laugh. And let me tell you, while you have your back turned and you hear a deep, throaty chuckle coming from behind, it's fairly unsettling.

"Um, Jameson? Something funny?" I asked, shaking my wet hair out of my eyes and sending water everywhere.

"I believe this is much more serious than a crush, Master Alexander," he said, grinning widely. "I think you may be in love with her!" he sounded quite triumphant when he voiced this aloud.

It took me awhile before I was able to choke something out. "Jameson! I. . .I. . .I just met the girl! And I didn't even 'meet' her, per say! How can I. . . possibly. . . be in-----?! With her-----?! But-----! I-----! No. . . . It can't be-----! But I think that…maybe…."

Brilliant; I know. But I had only just discovered this myself a few minutes ago, so the fact that my butler knew at almost the same time I did was starting to throw me off a bit.

"Master Alexander -----you're in love. Stop dancing around it and grow up, would you?"

Just then, I was spared by some unseen protector. The phone rang. Oh, thank you, Buddha or God or Zeus, who was definitely looking out for me.

"I'll get it!" I volunteered. Before he could protest, I was running as fast as I could down the dark corridor to the old fashioned telephone.

"Hello, Sterling residence."

"Alexander?" My mother's voice sounded garbled by the electricity running through the phone. A storm was brewing on both ends of the phone ---an eerie coincidence. But it was about time we got some decent weather in this town.

"Mom?" I asked excitedly. I missed my parents much more then I let on. "How are you? Is something wrong?"

"Yes, something has gone very, _very_ wrong. And it is going to affect you more then us. You deserve to be warned."

I was confused. "Huh?"

I heard an exasperated sigh on the other end. "Sweetie, so you remember Jagger's little brother, Valentine?"

"Yes. He's the mop-top kid from the covenant ceremony, correct?"

"Yes, and there's something you have to know about him." She sounded worried.

"What is it, Mom?" It couldn't be that bad.

"Valentine is a blood reader."

At that exact moment, lightning lit up the sky and thundered against the windows of the Mansion. I stood there, staring at the phone. My mother did not seriously say that that little kid could be a -----?

"Alexander? Sweetie? Are you still there?"

"Yeah, Mom. I'm here. Did you hit your head on a rafter while flying or something? Or is the weather getting to your head?"

"Alexander, I'm perfectly sane. Valentine is a blood reader."

"See, that's the part that makes me question your sanity theory."

"Alexander." Uh-oh. I knew that voice. She was angry. "Don't underestimate him because of his age. He can read not only your mind, but read your soul too. All he needs is physical contact and you become an open book to him."

"I know how a blood reader works, Mom. I wasn't born last century."

"I miss you," she said quietly.

My heart melted sympathetically. "Awh, Mom. I miss you too. But you're coming home in about two months, so the separation won't last very long."

There was a short pause. "Sweetie. . . we aren't coming back in three months as was originally planned. Your father and I have to stay in Romania for a little while longer; the art galleries have been quite demanding. I'm sorry, sweetheart."

"Oh, no. Don't be sorry. It's okay. I'm fine; I have Jameson for company." I left out the part that I didn't consider him to be a true friend of mine because of the age difference, but there was no need to mention that and worry her about my well being. Although she pretty much further damaged it by telling me that their stay had been prolonged. My heart went from melted to filled with ice water in an instant.

"Well. . . ." She stopped, unsure of something. "Promise me you'll be careful, okay?"

"Yeah, sure. No more sky diving off the kitchen table for me."

"Well, you never know! You did that when you were three, don't you remember?"

I laughed. "Yeah, those were the good old days when I wasn't engaged. Or at least didn't know about it."

After reminiscing of the tender memories of my youth ---finger painting the floors and walls when I was exploring art; chewing off the leg of an antique chair when my training fangs were growing in; the day I decided to play baseball with my dad and ended up getting hit in between the knees with the bat (ouch)---we hung up.

I sank to the floor and anchored my head in my hands. The air was cool around me, and no light was present except for the occasional streak of lightning.

Valentine was a blood reader. Someone who had the ability to record souls, more specifically. They were infamous in the Underworld. Blood readers could see into your mind and uproot your deepest desires; and there was something I would definitely want to keep away from Valentine.

Raven Madison. If he found out somehow about the extent of which I liked her, she'd be in grave danger. But there was a bright side to all this mess---he could only read my mind when he was touching me. I guess it would only be until he fully reached puberty before he would be able to read minds from afar. So I was safe.

For now.

I doodled random forms of art on a spare piece of sketch paper for a little while to calm my nerves. The fact that my enemies have a blood reading eleven year old in their ranks fairly freaked me out. I made a graceful little design before putting down my pencil. The grandfather clock chimed. I had spent an hour or so just scribbling aimlessly.

"Master Alexander," Jameson called from the front door. Wait, didn't I leave him in the kitchen? How'd he move without me knowing? "I'm back."

I hadn't even realized he had gone, but saying so would be rude. "Where did you go?" I asked. I walked into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of blood, promptly taking along swig of it.

He hesitated. Something was definitely up. I eyed him and slowly lowered my drink. "Jameson. . .something you want to say?"

"I was at Miss Raven Madison's house," he said reluctantly.

I heard something crash. After the smell of blood permeated around the room, I realized I had dropped the bottle. "You went where?!"

"I went to Miss Raven's house to deliver a letter. I gave it to her little brother, "Billy" I think he identified himself as."

I grabbed him by the collar and brought him down to meet my eyes. "You gave her a letter? What did that letter say, exactly?" If flames could materialize into thin air, my gaze would have probably reduced Jameson to ashes.

Jameson was shrinking back. "It said that you requested dinner with her."

He was a brave old man. That, or he had a death wish.

"Jameson!" I wailed, letting his shirt go. "How could you?!"

"Hey, if you don't have the balls to ask a girl out, _someone_ has to step up to the plate for you."

There was a furious, awkward silence. I was absolutely seething with rage, and I knew that my fangs were fully extended and my eyes were a brilliant ruby red. That always seemed to happen when I was angry. Jameson was looking down on me with a defiant expression. Yes, he clearly had a death wish.

"You did not," I began, snarling, "Just say that."

He leaned closer, in my face. "I believe I just did. I said only the truth."

And that's how I ended up wrestling him to the ground trying to claw his buggy green eyes out. _Damn you, damn you, damn you_, I chanted in my head.

"Jameson! I trusted you! Why would you do that to me?!" I yelled at him while dodging a W.W.F.-like punch.

"Because," he said, struggling with the knee to the groin I just gave him, "you need to let yourself enjoy life as a teenager while you're in your youth."

"I stopped in mid-slap. Jameson immediately took advantage of the cease fire and moved me off him, stepping aside. "That's one mean little punch, you've got there," he commented, wiping some blood of his lip.

"Jameson. I'm. . .I'm not ready to see her."

"Don't worry, it isn't tonight. I need time to purchase dinner."

"No, I mean at anytime. I'd make myself look like an idiot. I don't exactly talk to a lot of people my age. And what if I some how forget how Americans say hello? I wouldn't put it past me to do that. What if I air-kiss her and she freaks out, huh? Mon dieu. . . .And now I was speaking French. Great, just great. Spend a few years in Paris and you are scarred for life. I am probably going to be speaking Romanian in front of her. She wouldn't understand a word. . . ." I started rambling, and Jameson was just watching me moan on and on, smiling slightly.

"Master Alexander, you have until December the first, so don't worry." He sounded wickedly amused, but he gently touched my shoulder to calm me down.

"Yeah, I'm sorry I freaked out and attacked you, Jameson. It's just. . . I've had a lot of stress lately, and what with the whole engagement thing. . . ." I trailed off.

He nodded sagely. "I overstepped my boundaries as your guardian and butler. I acknowledge that. But I can't bear to see such a nice boy like you be so miserable. You shouldn't be so masochistic."

"Jameson, there's just one little thing wrong with this. The fact that I could quite easily kill her, simply because I got a little hungry. If I wasn't paying attention to what I was doing, I could damn her to an existence as a monster. And no one deserves to live this life. . .."

"Master Alexander!" Jameson was shocked. "I never want you to refer to being a vampire as 'being a monster'. You are one of the sweetest teenagers I've known; when you're not punching meddling old men."

I grinned apologetically. "Hey, I said I was sorry about that."

"Yes, well let's hope you have more control over your blood lust than your anger management. I shudder to think what you would have accomplished to my super model physique if we had continued our gentleman's brawl."

"Well, I was trying to castrate you, but you kept on moving," I joked. Jameson laughed.

"So, since dinner is ruined, what do you say about take-out? We might possibly have to order out every night this week; the grocery store is closed for reasons unknown."

"I say that we should get pizza tonight. There's only so much McDonalds a person can consume before exploding."

He grunted in agreement and left out the door again.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx one week later xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It happened over vegetable lo mien and white rice. We had been surviving on take-out for a while now. I was starting to feel really snug around the waist; so I was sure that Jameson was pissed off about his own weight at first. But I was way off. . . .

He lost his mind.

Or at least he was close to loosing it; he was muttering something indistinct about hooligans while he was spearing his won tons with his chop sticks. It was as if I had invited that dude from _Death Note_ over for dinner.

I tried to not to pay mind to his hostile behavior as I ate quickly. I wanted to go upstairs and paint something. Something gloomy and dark, something new. But at the moment I felt that mentioning art would only serve to fuel Jameson's anger.

"You could have told me," he spat grumpily.

"I could have, but I didn't. It's just a little art, Jameson."

"Oh, so that's what they're calling vandalism now, is it? Graffiti isn't an art, Master Alexander; it's a crime."

"Actually, graffiti is a new art that sprang from the hip hop subcultures of big cities recently. But it has been around for thousands of years. 'The very first graffito was probably made 3.500 years ago by an ancient tourist near the Sakkara Pyramid; it reads, with scribbled hieroglyphs: "I am very impressed by Pharaoh Djosers´ pyramid." ' I quoted the last bit from an article I read online about the history of graffiti. "People are even getting paid to do it ---it's becoming quite popular now. So technically, graffiti is art. People have been drawing murals on bridges and alleyways all the time. Like the Martin Luther King mural in New York," I concluded knowledgably.

"Notice that the words spray painted on the outside wall have no 'Martin Luther King' included."

"Oh well. It's art. I don't care what you say, it's art."

Jameson grunted, visibly annoyed. "I'm going to paint over it anyway."

"Jameson, I don't care at all. If some loser wants to spray paint 'GO HOME FREAKS!' on a brick wall outside, then that's their business."

"Okay, fine. But it is_ you _who is going to explain it to your parents."

"I was going to do that without your help." I popped some rice into my mouth. I wasn't exactly thrilled with the soy sauce; they should hand out packets of blood instead. A week ago, I had noticed that someone had spray painted our property when I was out flying. I saw them drive off in a red Camaro too. Yep. The Jock Jerk stuck. Because I knew that Jameson would flip out about it, I conveniently forgot to mention it to him.

But it wasn't just because I was preserving art; it was also a small form of revenge. I was still frosty towards Jameson for sending that letter to Raven Madison. I had accepted the inevitability that I would be making a total git of myself on the fateful night of December 1st, but I wasn't going down that easily.

If it hadn't been for the fact that I occasionally use the Mercedes, I would have slashed the tires of his precious car.

But in the end I decided not to do much after thinking about it. He was only trying to turn me into a normal seventeen year old. I'd have to screw up some courage and get ready to meet my doom.

And my doom came tomorrow night at eight o'clock sharp.


	14. Best Night in an Eternity

**13: Best Night in an Eternity**

Dread. An excited form of dread had taken over my entire body by the time I decided to roll out of my coffin.

I chose my outfit in utmost care; I didn't want to be dressed in a formal cape, I'd scare her away. And I certainly wasn't going to dress super casual---my idea of super casual was to waltz around in a holey black tee shirt and pinstripe boxers. And I was pretty sure that if the cape didn't scare her, the underwear would.

After digging in my dresser for about five minutes, I slipped on a silk black shirt, black jeans, my good combat boots, and finally the spider ring.

I could hear Jameson tinkering in the kitchen as I applied some gel in my hair in an attempt to tame it somewhat. It appeared that no amount of conditioner could hold it completely still for long periods of time; but gel made it smooth and fall onto my shoulders.

I hummed along to a Cradle of Filth song absentmindedly. I wanted for this night to have some hidden meaning in some way; an insignificant thing that would be my own indulgence.

An idea hit me. Five wild flowers, fresh from the graveyard. One for every time I had the fortune to glimpse upon her exquisite, angelic face.

"Jameson, I'm going out for a little bit to get something for our guest," I called over my shoulder as I stood on top of my balcony. I heard what sounded like a grunt of approval from the kitchen. I pushed myself off the ledge and plummeted forty feet below to meet my death.

Or at least that would have been the case if I hadn't pulled out of the dive as a bat just before hitting the ground. I had done that all the time in Romania; heights were definitely not an issue with me.

The cool night air calmed me down as I flew higher, speeding towards the graveyard. I could see my grandmother's monument from where I was in the sky, and dropped to the patch of flowers next to it.

"Hello, Grandma. How are you this evening?" I asked the stone likeness. I was replied to by silence. "Grandma. . . . Jameson set me up with the girl that I suspect to be the love of my life. Please give me luck tonight."

Okay; you can laugh. Talking to a stone statue is pretty odd. But I was desperate for some help and was willing to contact the dead for it.

After standing in the quite darkness for an immeasurable length of time, I glanced down at my Victor Vile wrist watch. I was late! I picked five wild flowers---a lily, a snapdragon, a solidaster and two mini-carnations---from the patch besides the grave and hurried out of the cemetery.

The wind was howling around me loudly as I ran down the road. With only the waning moon as my guide to the house, I felt as if I was in Romania again. But of course, even though we had lived at the edge of Bucharest, the main city's lights often downplayed the horror movie glamour.

Finally, I made it. After swinging open the gate and sneaking through the back door into the kitchen, I slowly made my way through the darkened hallway to the drawing room.

I was reluctant to move any farther when I got to the door though. What if she wasn't the girl I was expecting? What if it _was_? What if . . . she didn't like me? Would I survive? Yes, barely; I didn't know her enough, so it wouldn't sting like if I had known her all my life. But there was something about her that drew me---like a planets gravitational pull.

But risking rejection would be worth seeing her smile. I opened the door quietly and slipped in like a shadow. No need to draw attention to myself.

With a simple look, she knocked me breathless. She was standing beside my father's oak writing desk, a moonbeam crossing through her hair from the open window. Raven was wearing a black sleeveless mini-dress with delicate lace just skimming the top, hinting a bust of notable measure and accenting her smooth alabaster skin. Black tights made me imagine what the legs they were hiding looked like, and silver and onyx earrings dangled from her ears.

Beautiful to an almost illegal degree.

Before she realized I was there, watching her, I inconspicuously hid the wild flowers behind my back. I'd seen my father do it countless times before for my mother, so I did it almost out of reflex.

Her black fire eyes sparkled brilliantly as she noticed I had entered. I felt a burst of shyness as her eyes raked me over. I felt as if I wasn't good enough for her. She needed someone with more experience, unlike the social outcast vampire.

"I'm sorry I'm late. I was waiting for the baby sitter," she said guiltily. I was watching her incredibly soft looking black lips as she spoke, mesmerized by both the sight of the movement and the warm sound of her voice.

"You have a baby?" I asked, alarmed. Maybe it was a love child. Maybe she was already married. Did they do underage marriages in this part of America? I had forgotten.

"No, a brother!" She looked just as aghast by the idea as I felt.

"Right," I laughed. I felt her eyes on my face; seeming to enjoy my reaction. Had I said something wrong? I was then horrified to remember that this was going to be the longest night I ever spent talking to someone other than Jameson. I so very rarely popped out of my sanctuary. But if I slipped up . . . admitted what I was, then all would be ruined.

I would never let that happen.

"I'm sorry I kept you waiting," I said awkwardly. "I was getting you these." I reluctantly revealed the bouquet. What if she thought I was too old fashioned?

Raven looked positively touched. "Those are for me?" She slowly extended her delicate hands to take them from me, accidentally touching my skin in the process. One small tap from her was all I needed to have a thrill of pure magnetic energy shoot through my system.

Oh, wow. . . . I wanted so badly to take her in that moment. More than I should have. I wanted her soul to be inside mine, her blood to grace my lips for the rest of eternity, her life to be lived with mine and her flesh to be for my eyes and touch only. But most of all I wanted her love. Badly.

She jerked me out of my selfish thinking. "I've never gotten flowers before. They're the most beautiful flowers I've ever seen."

My heart melted. She liked the graveyard bouquet I had made for her! I did something right for once. But she was probably just being modest; no one that stunning could have never had a special gift.

"You must have had a hundred boyfriends," I mumbled, averting my eyes to my combat boots in an attempt to hide my red hot face. "I can't believe they've never given you flowers."

"When I turned thirteen my grandmother sent me a bouquet of tulips in a plastic yellow pot." I hid a wince. It sounded likes something _my_ grandmother would do.

"Flowers from grandmothers are very special," I said quietly.

"But why five?" Her black brows furrowed in confusion.

"One for each time I saw you." I admitted. I felt like such an idiot. . . .

Raven suddenly looked distressed. "I had nothing to do with the spray paint----"

Jameson materialized out of no where and interrupted her. Funny how he is as slow as molasses when its time for chores, but when it comes to setting me up he's a track star. "Dinner is ready. Shall I put those in some water, miss?"

"Please," she said politely, handing them to him.

"Thank you, Jameson," I chirped. _Thanks for interrupting. . . . _But we followed him out of the room. I waited until Raven had left the room first before exiting, not wanting to be rude. I was going to be on my nest behavior tonight.

But Raven hovered just out side the door, hesitant to move anywhere. She looked like a lost puppy. It was so cute.

"I thought you'd know the way," I teased, feeling light hearted. "Would you like something to drink?"

"Sure, anything," she answered. Then she looked like she got a bad thought. "Actually, water would be great."

I returned not a long time afterwards, with two antique crystal goblets filled with imported water. "I hope your hungry." I had smelled the foods Jameson was preparing when I had gone through the kitchen; we were in for a treat.

"I'm always hungry. And you?" she asked, unintentionally seductive.

"Rarely hungry," I answered truthfully. "But always thirsty!"

I led her to the dining room, candles strewn all around the enormous oak table. Jameson went _way_ overboard. The black candles were glittering in the darkness, creating a romantic glow that bounced softly off the silverware and ceramic plates. Oh, boy . . . this was going to be awkward. For me, at least.

I pulled out her dining chair and sat down in my own, far away from her, the vase full of wild flowers hiding her from my eyesight. The flowers denied me a look upon the fairest creature of the night.

Jameson carted in a fresh basket of rolls and left them at Raven's side of the table. He was back momentarily with sizzling bowls of green soup. Hungarian goulash! One of my most favorite dishes. And also one of the spiciest.

My creepy guardian had certainly out done himself; I could smell the aroma clearly, and it was making my mouth water. I was much more hungry than I thought.

Jameson placed the goulash in front of Raven like a proud parent. He took great pride in his culinary skills; he definitely had something to brag about.

Raven eyed the soup wearily, trying to identify the gurgling substance. Jameson watched her apprehensively, gauging her reaction. I had to step in so she wouldn't accidentally hurt Jameson's feelings. I knew how sensitive he was.

As she stirred with her spoon cautiously, I spoke. "Its Hungarian goulash," I assured her. Her dreamy, full-of-life night sky eyes darted up to mine, forcing my heart to race again. She didn't look so sure, but she picked up her spoon and sipped some of the soup.

"Yum!" she said brightly. Her face was starting to redden and her eyes were getting glassy. A sure sign that her taste buds were in flames. Perhaps Jameson had over done the spice?

"I hope it's not too spicy," I apologized.

"Spicy?" she choked out. "You've got to be joking!" The expression on her face made me want to laugh. She had a tear forming in one eye and was huffing like the big bad wolf.

I decided to ease her pain, and gestured to Jameson to give her another glass of water. But now he was becoming characteristically slow. I was sure that I had grown a beard of considerable length by the time he supplied Raven with her water.

I watched her take a few gulps of water in fascination. I focused on the movement of her pale throat as she drank.

I felt my fangs start to elongate. _No!_ Before she could notice anything---not that she could see me very clearly with those darn flowers in the way---I grit my teeth tightly together and got a big spoonful of the goulash.

As we ate in complete awkward silence for awhile, I wondered what I could say to lighten the mood. Just when I was about to ask if she liked painting, she broke the ice with a different, more interesting question.

"What do you do all day?" Raven asked curiously.

"I wanted to know the same thing about you." Did she go to a school like the ones on TV? Did she skateboard with her friends in the sunlight? Did she do the stuff I dreamed I could do?

"I go to school," she said. "What do you do?"

"Sleep," I said truthfully.

"You sleep?" Raven looked interested. "Really?"

"Is there something wrong with that?" I swatted stray strands of hair out of my eyes nervously.

"Well, most people sleep at night."

"I'm not most people." She just had no clue to what degree I wasn't.

"True . . ."

"And you're not either," I observed. "I could tell when I saw on Halloween dressed as a tennis player. You seemed a little too old to trick-or-treat. And you had to be different to think that was a costume."

She stared at me, shocked. "How did you get my info?"

Assuming she meant her address, I explained. "Jameson was supposed to return the tennis racquet to you but gave it to a blond soccer player who said he was your boyfriend. I might have believed his story if I hadn't seen you smack his hand and drive off without him."

"Well you're right, he's not my boyfriend. He's a totally lamoid jerk at school."

"But fortunately he also told Jameson your name and address to back up the story. That's how I knew how to find you. I didn't think I'd find you exploring the Mansion again."

That's right . . . the trespassing. I looked deeply into her eyes, trying furtively to lift the truth out of them.

"Well . . . I . . ."

We burst out laughing simultaneously.

"Where are your parents?"

"Romania," I said.

"Romania? Isn't that where Dracula lived?" She smiled a little and raised an eyebrow.

"Yes."

"Are you related to Dracula?" she teased. Her eyes sparkled magically again.

"He never came to the family reunion," I joked, unconsciously sending a nervous edge to my voice. "You're a wacky girl. You certainly give life to Dullsville."

"Dullsville? No way! That's what I call this town!"

"Well, what else could we call it? There isn't nightlife here, is there? Not for people like me and you." Well, mostly just me since I was the only vampire out of the two of us. "I preferred living in New York and London."

"I bet there's a lot of night people," she said cheerily. Raven had no idea just how many people like me roamed those cities. . . .

Jameson carted in the main course---medium rare steak with mashed potatoes---and took off with our bowls.

"I hope you're not a vegetarian," I said. Because then we'd have a bit of a problem. . . .

Raven glanced down at her plate. I strained my eyes to see this gothic goddess more clearly through the bouquet. My eyesight was still held back because of them.

"I'm sure it'll be delicious," she said, spearing a piece and putting it in her mouth. "Yum, once again."

Grrrrr. . . I was starting to hate those flowers. Depressed that I couldn't see and appreciate her beauty more clearly, I got a bit bolder. "Listen, do you mind---"

I transported my plate and myself next to her brazenly. "All I can see are the wildflowers, and after all, you're much prettier." I blushed and got my chair next to hers as well.

I couldn't help but smile between bites as we ate, yet again getting awkward from the silence. Our legs were touching each other's gently. I could feel her body heat, and it made me all the more infatuated with her.

"What do you do at night? Where else have you lived? Why don't you go to school?" she suddenly burst out.

"Slow down."

"Um . . . where were you born?"

"Romania," I answered.

"Then where's your Romanian accent?"

"In Romania. We traveled constantly," I said simply.

"Have you ever gone to school?" she asked.

"No, I've always had a private tutor." Until recently that is.

Raven paused thoughtfully. "What do you want to be when you grow up?"

I was abruptly reminded of that night at Jagger's mansion when I was little. What if she thought my answer was freaky, just like the Maxwells did? I chose evasive action. "You mean I'm not grown up?"

"That's a question, not an answer."

"What do you want to be?" I asked her. Time to divert the attention.

Raven looked into my eyes seriously for a long moment. "A vampire," she whispered.

A man with less self control then I would have bolted for the door. I just stared at her, alarmed and scared stiff. The serious expression had to be a bluff; she couldn't have seen through my façade so quickly?

I laughed in a poor attempt to hide my shock. "You are a riot!" But then my gaze hardened. A horrible thought occurred to me. Had Raven snuck into the Mansion to expose me for what I was? "Raven, why did you sneak into the house?"

She wouldn't look me directly in the face. Was it that bad?

At that exact moment, Jameson appeared with dessert, temporarily distracting me. "Flambé!" he declared dramatically, using a match to set the pastries aflame. And just when she was going to tell me, too. What bad timing.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

After I had put out our deserts and informed Jameson that we would be eating the remainder of our dinner outside, I showed Raven the way out the back door.

"I hope you aren't afraid of the dark," I said quietly, walking beside her to the condemned gazebo.

"Afraid?" She seemed amused by the suggestion. "I live for it!"

I had to smile at that. "Me, too. It's really the only way to see the stars properly." I lit up a candle that had been left outside. Jameson had thoughtfully placed it there.

"Do you bring all your girlfriends here?"

"Yes," I said, laughing. "And I read to them by candlelight. What would you like?" I asked, pointing to my never-been-used text books that were lying on the gazebo floor. I vaguely remembered throwing them out the window . . . wow, they got some distance. "_Functions and Logarithms _or_ Minority Group Cultures_?"

Raven laughed, a warm sound. She grinned, flashing off the most heart stopping smile I had ever seen. A starlight smile.

"The moon is beautiful tonight," I said, changing the subject. I stared up at it from my position in the gazebo.

"Makes me think of werewolves. Do you think a man can change into an animal?" she asked absently.

"If he's with the right girl," I flirted. She drew closer to me, the candlelight coupled with the moon accenting how shiny and silky smooth her hair was. Her lips parted minutely, and her eyelids slid down in a content motion.

"But we have all of eternity," I said after awhile. "For now let's enjoy the stars."

I set down my bowl onto the ledge and blew out the half-melted candle. Not even a few seconds after that, she grabbed my hand with hers. Her skin was amazing; it was powder white and creamy in complexion, and the heat coming from it was intoxicating. I could feel her pulse through her wrist . . . .

My cheeks were absolutely scorching; thank God it was dark out. Raven and I rested in the grass, stargazing hand in hand.

I watched the shimmering stars above us. She was so close to my body; I was hyperaware of Raven's movements. I wanted to hold her in my arms badly . . . to feel her warmth, to hear her heart race.

"Who are your friends?" she asked softly.

"I keep to myself," I answered.

"I bet you meet tons of cool girls before you moved here."

"Cool is one thing. The kind of girls who accept you for who you really are is another. I'd like something . . . lasting." I couldn't believe I just admitted that. I had never, _ever_ told anyone my secret desire before. No one. I decided to go ahead and admit the rest. "I want a relationship I can finally sink my teeth into."

I could feel her eyes watching me and just kept focusing on the stars. Maybe she thought I was a hopeless, pathetic romantic.

"So you don't have _any_ friends here?" she asked again.

"Just one."

"Jameson?"

"Someone who wears black lipstick," I hinted. We fell silent again, reveling in the empowerment of the night.

"Who do you hang out with?" I finally asked.

"Becky is the only one who accepts me, and it's because I'm the only one who doesn't beat her up," she said, laughing along with me. "Everyone else thinks I'm weird."

I turned serious at once. "I don't."

"Really?" Raven looked stunned, as if the thought anyone could relate to her was incomprehensible.

"You seem a lot like me. you don't gawk at me like I'm a freak."

"I'll kick anyone who does." Her voice had a final tone to it.

"I think you already did. Or at least smacked him with a racquet," I said. We laughed at the memory.

Raven wove her free arm around my torso, hugging me closer to her. Moving on an impulse, I began stroking her beautiful arm with my long, pale fingers.

"Could those be ravens?" She pointed to a very familiar flock of oompa loompa sized bats. My friends who had showed the way to the clearing. They were flapping around my bedroom tower, trying to gain entrance. Or at least they were planning on it; I could hear their conversation.

"Those aren't birds---they're bats." Very noisy bats.

"Bats! I've never seen bats around here, until you moved in," she stated excitedly.

"Yeah, we found some hanging in the attic. Jameson set them free. I hope they don't frighten you. They're wonderful creatures," I said in approval.

"It takes one to know one, right?" she joked.

"But don't worry. They never swoop down and get tangled un jet-black hair like yours. Only in the mall hair," I joked back.

"They like hair spray?"

"They hate it. They know mall hair looks terrible!"

She laughed again, and I moved my hand from her arm to her gorgeous black lochs and began to caress her hair gently. Raven relaxed under my touch.

I was getting a bit of a rhythm into it when she started stroking my own midnight lochs.

"Do bats like gel?" she teased, running her fingers slowly through my hair. It felt so good.

"They love the way it looks with a silk Armani," I teased back.

Then, out of nowhere, Raven broke away and had my arms securely at my side, straddling me. to say I was surprised would have been the understatement of the year; I was completely bewildered at first. I shook off my shock as quickly as possible and smiled shyly at her. The position we were in was awkwardly erotic. She watched my lips, waiting for something. I nearly had a heart attack. She wanted to . . . to . . ._ Kiss me_? Me?!

"Tell me your favorite thing about bats, Bat Girl," I just barely managed to breathe out. My heart rate was sky rocketing at a dangerous level.

"They can fly."

"You want to fly?" I asked without thinking. Jagger's voice swam back into my mind. I hoped Raven didn't take that question the wrong way. . . .

She nodded her head, smiling down at me. Oh, crap. I won't lie; I panicked. To be more dominant in this situation, I rolled on top of her and pinned her arms down, straddling her just like she did to me. Yes, definitely a tad too erotic.

I looked down at her and felt my face start to heat up. And apart from my face, I also felt a little weird in my black jeans. Did every teenaged guy feel this way when he was on top of a hot girl? Or was I just weird?

"What's your favorite thing about bats, Bat boy?" Raven asked, distracting me. I focused more on that question than the fact I was on top of her to calm my hormones down.

"I'd have to say," I said slowly. "Their vampire teeth."

She gasped.

"Don't be afraid," I said, giving her hand a playful squeeze. "I won't bite . . . yet," I flirted.

"I'm not afraid. A mosquito bit me!" She scratched her neck vigorously.

I turned my attention to her wound and inspected it. "It's starting to swell. We'd better get you ice."

"It'll be okay. I get these all the time."

I lost my humor. "I don't want you to tell your parents you came to my house and got bitten!"

I led her into the kitchen and placed some ice on the bite mark. The grandfather clock in the hallway struck midnight and began to chime. Raven looked alarmed.

"I've got to go!" she said urgently.

"So soon?" I tried not to let my disappointment show.

"Any second my dad will be calling from Vegas, and if I'm not there to answer, I'll be grounded for eternity!"

God, I knew the feeling. My parents were the same. Although when they said eternity, they really meant it.

"Thanks for the flowers, and the dinner and the stars," she said gratefully, trying to fish out her car keys from her purse.

"Thank you for coming," I said quietly. It meant a lot to me. she had no clue how much I felt so alive with her. I felt freer and I felt like myself. Just plain old Alexander. Not Alexander the loser vampire; Alexander the teenaged boy. I didn't want her to go just yet, but if she absolutely had to, I wanted a promise of another date. A real date. Not one that Jameson had orchestrated.

"Raven?" I asked nervously.

"Yes?" She looked up.

"Would you like me to. . . ."

"Yes? Yes?"

"Would you like me to . . . invite you again, or would you rather sneak back in?"

"I'd love to be invited," she said, smiling that heart stopping smile again.

"Wonderful then. I'll call you." And then without any hesitation, I kissed her cheek. It wasn't a hostile, Jock Jerk make out kiss. It wasn't a friendly 'I missed you' kiss. I kissed her as romantically as a kiss on the cheek can get.

Raven blushed furiously and smiled something along the lines of love-sick. I watched as she hopped in her car and drove off to her house. When the car was out of sight, I sat down on the porch and grinned.

This had to be the best night of my very long life. And I had the chance to have another great night again.

Soon.


	15. Starlight

**Chapter 14: Starlight**

Do you know the feeling of wanting very badly to do something, but knowing it wouldn't be received well? I was going through that the next couple of nights.

All I wanted to do was hear Raven's sweet and seductive voice again. I wanted to bring her to all the places that meant something to me and show them to her—a way of showing her bits of my soul. If a vampire even had one, that is.

A thousand date scenarios flashed through my head through out the time apart from her, stalking me where ever I went. As I ate Count Chocula for breakfast I envisioned taking Raven to an ancient cavern filled with dripping stalagmites and stalactites. As I listened to my booming stereo I dreamt of dancing with her at one of those underground Goth clubs I used to see in the city. As I painted and sketched, all I could think about was how nice it would be if we could spend an evening at a lake in Bucharest.

Maybe the visions would stop if I heard or saw her again. Maybe I would be able to regain my composure and my sanity.

Every time I passed the phone in the hallway, my fingers reflexed, ready to grab it and dial. There was only one thing stopping me.

Teenage phone etiquette.

I had seen enough movies to know that calling a girl right away was an obvious sign of desperation. I needed to wait it out a couple of days.

That was easier said then done.

Jameson wasn't much help either—he kept talking about the woman from Armstrong Travel agency; "Ruby" he called her.

I felt happy that we had both fallen for someone.

Around eight, I very pointedly ignored the phone by watching TV in the den. But there are only so many episodes of _the Munster's_ that a person can watch. Bored out of my mind, I trudged upstairs to my room to check out that crawl space I had discovered.

The floorboards creaked under my cleats as I walked through my room. I moved my easel to the side of the wall, making sure nothing disturbed the picture I was making.

A little door similar to the one hiding my coffin was standing there, hidden beneath aging wall paper. It was nearly invisible. There wasn't a lock, but there was a small bronze knob.

"Pretty," I commented.

It creaked as I pushed it open, a cloud of dust drifting through the air. What could possibly be hidden in its confines? Treasure? A body? My excitement grew with every passing thought.

What was inside blew me away.

It was as if I had stepped into a hole in time . . . back to my childhood.

A chipped rocking chair sat in the corner, one leg torn completely off and the paint curling. A black Deady Bear with a snarling grin looked at me with one eye and stuffing popping out of one ear.

I smiled despite myself. My mother used to read me Grim brother fairy tales on that rocking chair in my baby bat years. The Deady Bear used to be my coffin companion when I got lonely during the daylight hours.

My footsteps were muffled by the grime on the floor as I picked the bear up to examine it. Yeah; it was mine alright. I could see the indention of my training fangs on the toy.

I dropped it back on the chair, my interest subsiding. That was all that was hidden in the crawlspace? Slowly, I turned back to the door, feeling somehow let down. If I hadn't seen it poking out from behind a crumpled handkerchief of long ago, I wouldn't have noticed the box.

A small wooden box with an intricate silver clasp smiled out from its dusty resting place. Curious, I blew off the dust. A pretty painting of two bats flying against the moon revealed itself.

"Well this is odd . . . I don't think I remember this." My voice bounced about the room, filling the silence. I raised an eyebrow and lifted the lid carefully.

A slow tune came floating out, sweet and sad. I noticed the melody matched up with a poem that was written in fountain pen on the inside of the box. It was called "Starlight." I read the words, entranced by the music, and found something that shocked me. This was precisely how I felt about Raven! How I felt as if my heart could fly out of my chest when I saw her reveal her dazzling smile. How an ache grew in me to all into her playful eyes and give my life to her charms.

I set the music box down, my mind set. I was going to call Raven, stupid teenage rule or not. I couldn't bear to be parted with her sweet voice any longer—not when I was so close to really having her.

The room had raised memories from long ago, as if from a forgotten grave; it was ironic that I discovered the room around the time I met Raven. Or at least found the music box. Maybe it was fate—we were simply designed to be together.

Even with that reassurance, my resolve to call her melted away with every step. How would she react to this? Would she consider me desperate for calling her so soon, like most girls in the cinema did?

Jameson was off busying himself with something in the guest room. I severely hoped he wasn't planning on asking Ruby to sleep over. The very thought of Jameson getting laid while I was still a virgin was pretty bitter to think about.

At last, I was right beside the old fashioned phone in the hallway, looking down at its suddenly ominous glossy black paint. A thrill of a panic attack ran through my insides like a fleeing spider, and my breath quickened. This was it. I was going to call her.

I stared at the phone, not daring to pick it up.

"Master Alexander, I wouldn't recommend attempting to use ESP to pick up the phone," Jameson lectured, spooking me out of my skin.

Holy Crap! When did he pop out of thin air? I turned around to face him after I calmed myself a little. He had a smirk on his face from ear to ear.

"Just trying to stretch out the psychic muscles," I lied brightly. "Even if you wouldn't recommend it, every young vampire should try to get a strong mind. It's like broccoli for brains."

Jameson gave an unbelieving snort. "Right. Brain broccoli. Sure. And here I thought you were too scared to call Miss Raven."

I didn't like the knowing smile on his face. Stupid, all-knowing butler. . . . But I wouldn't lie to him; he'd caught me fair and square.

"Yes, but I don't know where I last placed her number," I confessed. Immediately, he whipped out a piece of paper from his breast pocket and dangled it in my face. Scowling, I took it from him. I should have made another excuse—such as I had shut the coffin lid on my hand again and had lost the ability to dial. But Jameson probably would have called her for me and asked her out himself if I had told him that.

It wasn't until I had put the receiver up to my face that I noticed Jameson was still hovering close by. My eyes narrowed until he got the message to hit the road. He scurried out of the hallway and shut the door to the parlor behind him.

Feeling self-conscious—for I was certain that Jameson would be eavesdropping by pressing a glass to the door—I dialed the number with quivering fingers.

The first time it rang, my stomach froze up unpleasantly. The second time, I was half-considering dropping the phone and hiding in my room. And by the third ring, I was starting to believe I should run away and join a traveling art show in New York city, never to return here again.

A little boy picked up the phone and spoke. "Hello?"

Oh God . . . how does one talk to a little kid? I gripped the phone harder. I hadn't had much experience with humans, let alone a little boy. . . .

"Hello? Is this some freaky prank call?" he demanded.

I hadn't realized that I'd been breathing into the receiver like some weird pervert. Straightening myself out, I cleared my throat and tried to sound sane. "I'm sorry—bad connection, I guess. I'm Alexander. May I speak to Raven, please?"

"A _boy_ is calling _Raven_?" the kid said in awe. "Has hell frozen over?"

"Can I speak to her, or is she out?"

"No, she's here. Hold on. . . ." I heard him call her name, apparently up a flight of stairs. There was a response, followed by quick footsteps. When I heard the phone getting picked up, I spoke to her before she could greet me.

"I couldn't wait any longer." Immediately, I cringed. Desperation was obvious . . . I was such a dork.

"Excuse me?" She sounded as if she had been slapped.

"It's Alexander. I know guys aren't supposed to call right away. But I couldn't wait any longer," I explained, starting to get shy again. Yes, a total dork.

I heard a short laugh. "That's a stupid rule. I could have moved," Raven said.

"In two days?"

"It was only two days?"

I chuckled. So I wasn't the only one who thought eternity had dragged out since we last saw each other. It was a comforting thought. "It seemed a year for me."

Silence on the other end. I swear, it was the perfect moment to insert a cricket chirp. What had I said to get nothing in reply? I decided to wait a little, to see if there was anything else she wanted to say. 'I love you,' would definitely be acceptable for her to tell me, for example.

Finally, she spoke up. "Alexander . . . um . . . I have something to ask you." Raven sounded extremely nervous, more so then even I was. This surprised me. I wanted to ask her out again, but was she asking _me?_ Not very traditional, but then again we weren't a very traditional pair.

"I do, too."

"Well, you first."

"No, ladies first," I insisted.

"No, guys are supposed to do the asking," she pointed out. I frowned. Touché. It appeared that I would be going the traditional route after all.

"You're right," I admitted reluctantly. "Well . . . would you like to go out? Tomorrow night?"

"Go out? Yeah, that would be great!" she said, sounding immensely pleased.

Feeling extremely light hearted, I let my curiosity towards her unasked question show. "So what were you going to ask me?"

There was an awkward pause. "Would you . . ." she began quietly.

"Yes?"

"Do you . . ."

"Do I what?"

"Like to dance?" she rushed.

It sounded as if I was getting interviewed for 'So You Think You Can Dance,' a popular show that Jameson watched.

I remembered the occasional club I would visit in Bucharest—the city was growing, and while that was a downside because of the few trees to hang from, there was also a boost in Goth culture. Clubs—specifically vampire clubs—popped up in the slums. When I found time, I would come for atmosphere and a few songs. And the blood, of course.

"Yeah, but I didn't think this town had any hip clubs," I replied. "You know of one?"

"No . . . But when I find one, I'll let you know."

"Great!" I cheered inside; this was good news. Maybe one of my visions could come true after all. "Then I'll see you after sundown."

"After sundown?"

Oops. Maybe that was a little too much of a hint. Guiltily, I covered myself with an excuse. "You said you lived for the darkness. So do I."

"You remembered," Raven approved.

"I remember everything," I said.

"Except how to STUDY FOR SCHOOL!" Jameson hissed. Somehow, he had managed to sneak up on me again without me noticing. He waved the textbook I had thrown out a window and glared at me.

I took that as my cue to hang up the phone and runaway to the attic, where I could drown Jameson's death threats with Xandria, 69 Eyes and Theatre des Vampires music.

How could I focus on studying, anyway? Tomorrow night would be amazing; and I already had an idea of where to bring Raven.


	16. Movie Madness

**15: Movie Madness**

**A** vampire in love. And for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, I actually liked my undead status. I was also distracted from my daily routine, a downside to falling for a mortal. I couldn't watch the stars without thinking they were put there just for me and Raven to dance under; I couldn't daydream about what I could paint next – all I could daydream about was where I would bring Raven for another date. I couldn't listen to the melodic, rugged music of Rob Zombie without thinking that he had composed songs in our honor. Blood lost its taste altogether; all I wanted to drink was a dark chocolate shake with Raven. The feelings were new to me, and as much as I enjoyed their presence, they were infuriatingly confusing.

I survived the beginning of the evening with nothing to do, passing the time by doing a little bit of my homework. But there's only so much algebra my brain can take before exploding. I was relived when the night of our date came up.

I leapt out of my coffin, excitement fluttering in my stomach like a bat.

I threw on my black Tripp pants and my good, unscuffed pair of combat boots in record time. I had a little while; it was only 6:30.

As quickly as I could, I ran through my hidden door, across my room, and down the stairs towards the kitchen. When it came to hanging out with Raven, there was no sense in flirting with danger by skipping dinner.

Jameson shuffled into the room as I chugged down a bottle of blood that I snagged from the refrigerator. Tasteless once more. I wondered vaguely if it had something to do with the fact that it was animal blood and not human, or if I had accidentally grabbed the diet flavor.

"What's the rush Alexander? Are you having a drinking contest with a ghost?" He joked, his Romanian accent slurring the words a bit.

I flashed him a grin in response. He looked at me strangely. Had I done something wrong?

"What?" I asked, confused.

"I've never seen you so happy for such a long period of time. I keep on expecting you to go back into your introverted state. You must really like this girl," Jameson observed.

"Yeah, we're planning on eloping. Will you be the ring bearer?" I asked sarcastically.

Jameson shrugged his shoulders and wore a small, sly smile on his face as he walked out the wooden door. I ignored him as much as I could, focusing on scrounging for movie theatre related items.

Despite the fact that my family and I were vampires, we were surprisingly well stocked in the candy department. Any three year old would turn green in envy at the sight of our pantry. I emerged from the kitchen with a huge tub of popcorn, SnoCaps, Dots, Sprees, Good & Plenty and two Coke-filled neon-green glasses. After I had laid the goods on the glass table in the den, I placed Bela Lugosi's _Dracula_ on the big screen TV and sprawled out on the black leather couch. Everything was set and ready; I'd have a normal, traditional _human_ date tonight.

The door knocker was so loud, I could hear it from upstairs. I was surprised that Raven was here so early; it was only fifteen minutes to seven.

"I'll get it!" I shouted to Jameson.

I flew down the stairs so fast, it's a miracle I didn't trip and accidentally twist my head around like in those horror movies. I reached the door out of breath and overexcited. I took a deep breath, but it didn't help very much. I was still ready to faint from the idea of seeing her again. Somewhere, in the haze of my mind, I wondered if it was healthy for a mortal to have such influence over me. Not that I cared much.

It had happened on accident. I hadn't meant to do it. But as soon as I wrenched open the huge oak door, I leaned over before I could stop myself and kissed her cheek. My heart skipped a beat.

Raven was startled at my spontaneous greeting. I'm sure I looked pretty shocked myself – I felt it at least. The kiss had just come out; I hadn't intended on being so straightforward. I got over it quickly. It had been worth it to feel her skin beneath my lips.

"That never happened when Jameson opened the door!"

"Well, you better tell me if he does. We have a rule, you know. I don't kiss his girls and he doesn't kiss mine!" I said, returning her warm smile.

I led the way up to the den, Raven following as curiously as a little kid being invited into a toy store. She inspected the art pieces that my dad had gotten his claws on over the years - flowered paintings, Barbie sculptures, and Campbell's soup can sketches by Andy Warhol. Then she saw the Candyland buffet.

"I wanted to make you feel like you're in the movies," I offered in explanation. She gave me a loving grin and swatted away a few strands of her midnight hair from her adoring, intelligent, lonely, reckless, melting black eyes.

I walked over and popped in the DVD, that fluttering feeling going on again. It was making my stomach uneasy. My forehead was overheated, too. As soon as I turned the lights off, I half-ran to the couch and sat next to Raven, the enormous popcorn tub separating us. I silently cursed my over thinking on the movie theatre thing.

I can't honestly say that I paid attention to the movie – all my will power had to be directed into not hyperventilating at what I was planning to do. I had never kissed anybody in another way than in kissing my mother or some other relative. This was going to be a completely different experience altogether.

At just the right moment – when Dracula was getting ready to have a Lucy protein shake – I very gently pulled her face from the screen.

Raven's gorgeous, night sky eyes were smoldering in the darkness. A flash of intuition ran through them, giving me my cue. I leaned in slowly, savoring the moment. And then our lips melted together.

The kiss was passionate, hot and sweet – like flames and blueberry Jolly Ranchers. Better than any blood I had ever gulped down in my life.

I threw myself into the gravitational pull the kiss had, letting instinct rule. As she took a breath, I moved on to her ears, kissing and gently nibbling on them. She giggled softly. I liked that sound. My fangs grew at the contact my mouth was having with her skin, urging me to bite hard. I ignored them and at the same time acknowledged them. My lips and teeth made their way to the nape of her neck. I didn't take her now, like I wanted to deep down, I just softly grazed them against her neck. I was careful not to lose myself into the passion like I did with my art, because I could either damn her to an eternity of night or kill her.

She stretched her legs out on the table, and I would have ignored them, had it not been for the fact that they knocked over my glass of ice cold Coke and then the popcorn all over me. Startled by the sudden attack of the food, I sunk my fangs into her. Hard.

Raven gave a sharp cry out in pain. Ice water flooded my veins. God's blood. No; please tell me that I hadn't—?"

"Oh, no! I'm sorry!" I apologized, freaking out.

The floor seemed to be sprouting popcorn; it was everywhere; the couch; the table; me.

Raven was holding her neck, a panicked expression on her face. I could hear her pulse race wildly. She was turning a sickly pale color, even more ashen than her usual ghost-like appearance.

"Raven, are you okay?" I asked nervously. She looked like she was about to throw up.

She was wobbling around a little, her eyes getting dazed. And then she fainted, landing right in the popcorn adorned floor.

I flipped on the lights and started to call out her name.

"Raven? Raven? Wake up! Raven!" I repeated. Would I need to drag her to a hospital? I couldn't do that; the last thing I needed was to explain to her parents why she did it in the first place. "We were making out when I accidentally took a chomp out of your daughter" wouldn't go over well with them.

I was starting to consider dumping some Coke on her to revive her, when she opened her eyes.

"Raven? Raven?" I asked, relieved.

She sat up, still holding her neck, and looked groggy. "What happened?" she demanded. There was popcorn in her hair.

"You fainted! I thought that only happened in old movies! Here, drink this." I grabbed her glass and put it to her lips, trying to nurse her back to herself.

She still looked awful. She looked as if she had been through the mill and back again. That's when I saw it. Oozing between her fingers was a steady stream of blood from where I had bitten her.

This was a nightmare.

I snatched some of the ice that had spilled on the table and pressed it on her neck, moving her hands away. "I'm so sorry! I never meant to - ''

"That's cold!" she protested.

"I've ruined everything," I said, miserable. Leave it to the weirdo vampire to ruin a date with his girlfriend. The ice was starting to melt from the body heat.

"Don't say that. This happens all the time." She waved her hand nonchalantly. Didn't she grasp the danger she could be in? It was an obvious act. I gave her a skeptical look.

"Well, just with you," she admitted.

"I never meant to hurt you," I apologized again. I tenderly traced the wound I had made with my fingers, inspecting it like a doctor. "It's just a flesh wound. I didn't break the skin." I said, starting to calm down.

"You didn't?" She seemed pretty bummed out by that, as bizarre as that seems.

"This is bigger than the mosquito bite. You'll have one major hickey!" At least it wasn't a real bite.

She stood up, brushing the popcorn off. "Bela would be proud," she said, looking proud herself. It almost made me laugh with relief. At least she wasn't reacting very badly.

"Yes," I agreed. "I guess he would."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

We had driven back to her house, crickets serenading like little musicians for the night, and the darkness looming over us. After the movie had ended, she had declared it time to go home when the clock struck eleven.

"I want to ask you some thing," she said nervously as we got of the Mercedes. I had been expecting this, and dreading it at the same time.

"You don't want to hang out any more? Listen, Raven –'' I began.

She cut me off quickly. "No, I mean… I just wanted to say…" she trailed off, looking uncomfortable. I wished that she would just tell me to take a hike and get it over with.

"Yes?" I urged.

"Umm… I found a place to dance," Raven looked up at my face, still uncomfortable. I sensed there was more she wanted to say.

"To dance? In this town?" Maybe the Dullsvillians were wilder than I gave them credit for.

"Yes."

"Is it cool?"

"No, but –''

"But if you go there it must be the trendiest place in the world," I reasoned.

"It's my school," she began.

"School?"

"I thought you would think it was totally lame. I shouldn't have mentioned it." She said quickly, sounding slightly disappointed but unsurprised.

"I've never been to a school dance before." And judging what I had seen in _Carrie_, I wasn't so eager to go. But still . . . I inwardly cringed. Maybe if I went I could pretend I was more human than I really was. This could be my one chance to visit a school at all.

"Really? Me neither," she said, a little more cheered.

"Then it'll be a first time for both of us." I grinned at her, a shot of my rare store of confidence showing.

"I guess it will. It's called the Snow Ball. I can wear a woolen scarf to cover my bite," she teased.

"I'm sorry – It was an accident." But I was still smiling.

Raven shook her head. "It was the best accident that ever happened to me!"

We had reached her front door and were standing on her porch. The light made her smooth, black hair shine.

I started to lean in to kiss her before parting until the next sunset, when I thought better. It wasn't wise to have a repeat of what happened in the den. "I better not."

"You better!" Raven argued, teasingly indignant.

I grabbed her chin softly and leaned in, planting kiss number two on her. Wonderful, mellow compared to the first one, but still sweet and hot. My thoughts clouded up, and my knees started buckling.

"Until we meet again," I whispered, kissing her one last time. I blew her another when I reached the car.

As I pulled out of the driveway, in my peripheral vision I saw her touch her neck; her fingers tracing over where I had bitten her.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I wasn't able to see Raven for the next two days. It was the longest couple of days I had ever encountered. Loneliness and apprehension were eating me up inside. It felt as if I would never see her again.

My art wasn't thrilling me like it used to. Nothing came out exactly as I wanted it. Mostly I just studied for home school exams or something. Both the night and the day passed by slowly, torturing me every second. I considered flying over to her house and hanging out there, just to check on her and make sure that she hadn't died or something. But I held back, reminding myself that we would eventually be going to the Snow Ball together soon.

I didn't hide in my room any more; Raven had cured me of that. I chatted with Jameson on a regular basis and smiled more often. I had expected to feel happy now that I wasn't as alone as I used to be anymore, but now that I had Raven, happiness was an understatement. Euphoric and uplifted was the closest to what I felt.

I wondered what the Snow Ball would be like. I had never attended a human soiree before, but I was imagining a scene from the movie Ever After. I smiled at the memory. Princes and princesses falling in love at first sight and dancing the evening away. It seemed like a dream. A fairy tale, really. But I was living one, I reminded myself, and I loved every moment of it.

In the back of my mind, I had one last lingering thought. It was such a faint thought that I didn't even pay attention to it. Perhaps if I did, it would have prepared me to guard my heart. It was this:

The monster in a fairy tale never has a happy ending.


	17. The Snow Ball

**16: The Snow Ball **

I didn't sleep well at all. I tossed and turned around in my sleep, banging my head on the side of my coffin more than once. I was going to have bags under my eyes for sure.

I had had an intense nightmare. I had been locked outside of the Mansion and couldn't find someplace to hide before the sun came up. Everyone shut their doors just as I came up to their house, begging for entrance.

I'd been having this nightmare over the years, replaying itself, sometimes with added details. Just before my grandmother died, it had played. The dream meant that trouble was coming.

I jolted awake, cold sweat dosing my face. Soothing darkness surrounded me. My heart started slowing down from the panic of the dream.

God. The desperation of trying to shield myself as the sun was frightening. I hated that dream so freaking much. I scowled and nestled back against the pillow in my coffin, and slowly lost consciousness. Thankfully, I dreamt no more.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I danced around my attic room, the melodic tenors of Avenged Sevenfold filling the space around me. I tried on everything in both my closet and my dresser, in a hundred different combinations and styles, trying to find something acceptable enough. Was this dressy or informal?

I was acting like a teenage girl. I stopped whirling around the room and stood there, disgusted by myself. But I really had to find something to wear; I could go naked, but I'm sure there's a dress code about that at least.

Finally, after fruitless attempts to find something suitable, I did something I had never done before.

I called Jameson for fashion advice. I sincerely hoped he wouldn't hand me one of his butler uniforms. That would have been torture.

Believe it or not, Jameson was actually a big help. With his assistance I managed to get something.

Because, really, when would my suit be able to get out of the closet again?

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jameson was really starting to get on my nerves. After he dressed me up like a doll, he insisted on taking a picture. I humored him at first, but when he said that I didn't turn up and insisted that he take another, it became annoying. He knows about my little pet peeve.

I escaped, unscathed, to the Mercedes, and retrieved my emergency comb from under the seat. Disgusting. Jameson put so much hair gel in it that it made me look like an old man. I made it suitably wind blown and messy again before taking off.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I walked up to Raven's door with a flowered box in hand. I was feeling pretty nervous about this; after all, I had never met her parents before. Maybe they would hate me.

I rang the bell and nearly jumped out of my skin when Raven swung open the door. She gave me a dazzling smile. My eyes jumped out of their sockets.

Raven was, well, simply _breathtaking._ Elvira had nothing on her.

She was wearing high-heeled knee-high vinyl boots, black fishnet stockings, a black miniskirt, a lacy black tank top that exposed a tempting amount of cleavage, metallic black bracelets on black fingerless gloves revealing black nail polish, gleaming like black snow. She had a black cashmere scarf wrapped around her slender, pale neck, hiding the bite mark I had given her. I was sorry that my dental impressions were still making a mark on her neck, but I was hardly paying attention to that. I was more focused on her bust line.

"Wow!" I breathed, tearing my eyes away to look at her face. Even more beautiful. She was a Gothic angel. Raven had glittering black lipstick, shimmering black eye shadow, and had straitened her luscious, midnight hair.

I could see a man, her father, motion for her to put on a sports coat to demote her amazing – albeit a little suggestive – outfit. She rolled her eyes and draped it over a chair.

"I should have worn a knit hat or snow boots," I said, feeling slightly uncomfortable and awkward in my suit. "I didn't really keep with the theme."

She looked me over, a lascivious gleam to her eye. I blushed. Maybe I was better looking than I gave myself credit for.

"Forget it! You'll be the best-looking guy there," she complimented. Her smoldering night sky eyes sparkled. I got a grip on myself before I kissed her right there in front of her parents.

She pulled me into her living room. I had expected as much; her living room was perky and pastel, like her parents. I was sure her bedroom was completely different. But still, I was happy to be here. I eyed a hand-knitted scarf in a basket near a blue chair. Very mortal, I gushed. I resisted the urge to inspect it.

"These are my parents, Sarah and Paul Madison." Raven gestured to them. Mrs. Madison looked very kind, the type of mom who would bake cookies if you got a C in English. She had chocolate brown hair and matching eyes. Mr. Madison looked as if he joked around more than used his parental authority. He had permanent dimples from smiling. They looked at me as if they were used to it all. I'm sure they were – at least _I_ wasn't wearing black lipstick.

"It's wonderful to meet the both of you," I said timidly, extending my hand. What a wimp.

Mrs. Madison grabbed my hand. For such a small looking woman, she had quite the grip. "We've heard so much about you." She flashed a sparkling smile. So that's where Raven got it, I realized.

"Please sit down," she said warmly. "Would you like anything to drink?"

I almost laughed. _Sure! You willing? _But I couldn't ask that. "No thank you," I improvised.

"Make yourself comfortable," Mr. Madison said, motioning to a stark white sofa, settling himself into a beige recliner.

I felt Raven stiffen by my side. She apparently hadn't gone through the 'boyfriend-and-dad-inquisition.' But then again, I never did either. And judging by what I had seen in numerous TV shows, this wasn't going to be a picnic. I prayed that this would bowl over soon. I sat down lightly, ready for the shit to hit the fan.

"So, Alexander, how are you finding our town?"

"It's been great since I met Raven," I said, as respectively as I could. I smiled at her, trying to melt away her unease.

"So how did you two meet since you don't attend school? Raven neglected to tell us that part." Mr. Madison looked suspicious, as if we had met in a strip bar or I had stalked her or something. Raven squirmed in her chair. Somehow I knew that she hadn't told them all the details.

"Well, I guess we just ran into each other. I mean, it was just one of those things, the right place at the right time. Like they say, everything is about timing, and luck. And I have to say, I've been very lucky since I met your daughter."

Mr. Madison was giving me a black glare. The term, _if looks could kill, _popped into my mind. My brain slowly clicked two and two together.

"Oh, no, that's not what I meant," I quickly interjected.

I turned to Raven and could feel my face turning a bright red. Her lips made a hard line as she restrained from smiling.

"What do your parents do exactly? They aren't in town much, are they?" he asked.

I felt cold all over. I still missed them. "My father is an art dealer. He has galleries in Romania, London, and New York."

"That sounds very exciting."

"It's great, but he's never home. He's always flying around somewhere." I didn't miss the look Mr. and Mrs. Madison both exchanged.

"Time to go or we'll be late!" Raven hastily interrupted. I internally thanked her for the rescue.

That's when it came to me; I was still holding the small box. "I almost forgot," I said, standing up awkwardly. "Raven, this is for you." I handed it to her.

"Thank you!" Raven said gratefully. She ripped open the package, letting the blood red rose corsage into the light. "It's beautiful!" Raven smiled at me and then turned to her parents, having a conversation with their eyes.

"How lovely!" Mrs. Madison admired.

Raven held the corsage over her chest as I attempted to pin it on. My fingers shook in nervousness.

"Ouch!" Raven exclaimed, pulling back a little.

"Did I stick you?" I asked, cursing my clumsiness.

"My finger got pricked, but it's okay," she said, holding her finger up so I could see. A trickle of blood slid down. I couldn't tear my eyes away.

The scent of it made my muscles tense. If I didn't control myself right now, I could kill her. But luckily, Mrs. Madison grabbed a tissue from the coffee table and stepped in between us.

"It's nothing, Mom, just a little blood. I'm okay," she assured her, sticking her pricked finger in her mouth. I felt slightly disappointed for some sickening reason.

"We better go." Raven said quickly, a tone of desperation in her voice.

"Paul!" Mrs. Madison pleaded, getting hysterical. Raven edged around me, trying to escape.

"Don't forget the coat," Mr. Madison warned.

Raven grabbed the coat and my hand, then turned on her heel and dragged me out the door as if rescuing me from the flames of hell.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The music of the Exies was so loud, we could hear it from the parking lot. At least some of the Dullsvillians had some taste in music; I liked this band too.

Raven stepped out of the car and glanced around, searching for something. Whatever it was, she didn't find it, and looked pretty relieved.

"Don't forget your jacket," I reminded her.

"You'll have to keep me warm." Raven winked at me, leaving the now lonely and dejected sports jacket on the seat.

Two blond girls with completely fake tans were walking into the school dressed in white ski jackets. They eyed our ensembles in horror, like we had stumbled off the set of a macabre movie.

Raven noticed, but didn't complain. She had been through this everyday; she was used to it. I felt a rush of empathy. Why would someone treat an angel like this? She led me away from the girls and went to the front door.

I couldn't help it; I stopped dead in my tracks. I had only seen schools like this in _Full House_. It was looming over us like a sky scraper, a rusty red brick coat on, complete with metal stair rails.

"We don't have to go inside," Raven suggested.

"No, that's okay." I gave her fingers a quick squeeze.

Two muscular dudes in the hallway ceased talking when they spotted us. But I wasn't paying much attention. I was too busy studying the large, decorative Snow Ball signs, the bulletin board announcements with authentic corkboard, and the gleaming trophy case. And the lockers! Endless lockers, rows upon rows in an endless _sea_ of lockers.

"You can pick your eyeballs off the floor now." Raven snapped at the jocks. We walked past them, their eyes burning holes in my back.

I ran my hand against the cold, green metal of the lockers. Exactly as I dreamt they would feel.

"It's just like on TV!" I said, enthralled.

"Haven't you ever been in a school?" Raven asked, amused.

"No."

"Gosh! You're the luckiest guy in the world. You never had to eat a school lunch. Your intestines must be in great shape!"

I felt a small twinge of melancholy when she said that. Raven had no clue how lucky she was; to wake up and see the sunlight, to go to school, to see her reflection. I wouldn't mind some messed up intestines if I got to be human.

"But if I went here we would have met sooner," I pointed out.

Raven hugged me so close I could feel her heart beat in her chest. A wonderful sound… but I mustn't focus on that. We walked under a particularly large Snow Ball banner. Apparently this thing was bigger than prom.

Yet another couple of girls passed us and did a double take. If they weren't careful, their eyes would come flying out of their skulls. Raven stiffened, as if bracing for impact. It was obvious the girls would get no mercy whatsoever if they chose a fight.

I gripped her wrist softly. There was no reason to get in a scuffle. She got the message and loosened her tense shoulders. We went on, ignoring the girls whispering and giggling to themselves as they went to the gym.

"Here's where I don't learn chemistry," Raven said lightheartedly, opening the unlocked door to a classroom. "I usually have to sneak into places. This is a breeze."

Her words rekindled my curiosity. She had never explained why she had snuck into the mansion.

"By the way, I've always wanted to know why you snuck in –'' I began.

"Look at these!" Raven interrupted. I diverted my attention to what she was pointing to. Beakers by the dozen were lined out on the table. I nearly died in excitement.

"Lots of mysterious potions and explosions, but that wouldn't bother you, right?" she asked, coyly.

"I love it!" I held on to a beaker like it was a fine wine. In reality it contained a frothy, green liquid.

She pushed me into a desk, and strolled over to the blackboard. I liked how her skirt swayed. I also liked the dizzyingly sexy perfume she was wearing. After she wrote my name on the board, she spun around to face the 'class'.

"Does anyone know the symbol for potassium? Raise your hand." Raven threw her voice out a bit. She had to be the hottest teacher I had ever seen. The black lipstick and fishnets definitely helped.

I raised my hand up high. "I do!"

"Yes, Alexander?" She asked, leaning down on the table a bit. I could see even more of a curve to her bust. I tried to keep the sexual desire to a bare minimum, but she was simply too tempting.

"K."

"Correct, you pass the whole year!"

"Miss Madison?" I said, my tone innocent.

"Yes?"

"Can you come here for a moment? I think I need some tutoring. Do you think you can help me?"

"But I just gave you an _A_!"

"It's more along the lines of anatomy."

She stepped closer, blushing a little. I pulled her onto my lap and kissed her softly on the mouth. I would have continued and completely forgotten the dance, but a few girls ran past the open chemistry lab door, giggling all the way.

"We better go," I pulled away reluctantly.

"No, its okay," she insisted, snuggling closer to me. A nearly irresistible invitation.

"I don't want you to get expelled. Besides, we have a dance to attend." I moved Raven off me a little and stood up, holding her hand. She looked disappointed; I'm sure I did too.

As we drew closer to the gymnasium, people were already staring at us like we had landed from a spaceship. Raven didn't really notice. I felt a surge of empathy for her. Maybe, even though I could only go out at night and she had the wonderful ability to walk about whenever she cared to, we really weren't all that different from each other.

Raven led me to a graying woman who was collecting tickets at the door. She scrutinized me as if I was a convict sneaking into the dance. "I see you arrived at the dance on time, Raven. Too bad you can't do the same for algebra. I've never seen this gentleman at school," she observed.

"That's because he doesn't go here." Raven said, curtly. The graying teacher let us pass, but kept on staring. I was going to have welt marks on my back because so many people were staring.

We entered the Snow Ball. My eyes watered and my skin tingled as I got used to the blinding white. Everything was the color of spun cotton; the plastic icicles and snowflakes that were strung from the ceiling; the fake powdery snow on the floor; and the artificial snow falling from above. Everyone seemed to have bought their clothes from Tommy Hilfiger, because corduroys with sweaters, mittens, scarves and hats surrounded us. The huge air conditioner blasted artic chills towards me.

The band was pretty decent, but they weren't playing any of the Exies songs. I must have heard it from a passing car. The band, The Push-ups, stared at us like the whispering, giggling, gasping students around us.

"You want to get some hot chocolate before some senior spikes it?" Raven asked, looking serious. I wondered if humans did that on a regular basis or something.

"I'm not thirsty," I said, gazing at the dancers. I had swigged down another one of my special drinks before I left the Mansion.

"I thought you said you were always thirsty?" Raven wondered. _I am, but not for hot chocolate,_ I wanted to say.

"My I have this dance?" She asked graciously, offering her hand to me. I took it, and we plowed our way through the fake snow to the dance floor.

I was officially in my personal utopia. I was dancing the hottest girl in the room – nobody could top Raven, it was an impossibility. It didn't matter that we were outcasts, it didn't matter that we weren't accepted by people in Dullsville. All that mattered was that we accepted each other. Raven and I danced like a couple at the Coffin Club. We didn't see anybody except for ourselves. We danced through electric versions of "Cold As Ice," "Ice Cream," and "Frosty The Snowman," making no apparent plans on ceasing.

Just as The Push-ups started to play, "I Melt With You," dizziness started to effect us. The room rotated haphazardly as the snow continued to cascade onto us. We tripped over a smashed soccer player who was making a snow angel. Raven and I screamed in laughter after we righted ourselves up. When the music had paused, Raven embraced me with a vice-like grip. Had it been anyone else I would have told them to get their hands off of me before I took their hand off, but with her, I made an exception. I didn't want to be anywhere else in the world besides her arms.

"Does the asylum know you've escaped?" a voice sneered behind me. It was the blond, good-looking soccer player who said Raven was his girlfriend.

Raven steered me to the refreshment table and snagged two cherry snow cones. She looked as if she was about to hit someone. I eyed her boots warily. I hoped she didn't kick me with those things; I'd be suffering in the hospital for weeks.

"Does the warden know you're here?" Trevor was going to stalk us it seemed.

"Trevor, go away!" Raven snarled, stepping in between me and him.

"Oh is the Bride of Frankenstein having PMS?" he continued. I resisted the impulse to drain him dry for that comment. Raven wasn't able to, but she was certainly thinking about it.

"Trevor, enough!" she warned him. I put my hands on her shoulders, trying to avoid a fight.

"But this is just the beginning, Raven, just the beginning! Don't they have dungeon dancing? You have to actually go to school to come to dances," Trevor lied to me, eyeballing my outfit in contempt. "But I guess in Hell there are no rules."

"Shut up!" Raven defended, looking vicious. I pitied Trevor. "Don't you have a date? Or would that be Matt?" she asked sarcastically. She didn't catch the stab of pain that flickered on Trevor's face, but I did. He disguised it quickly with a sneer.

"Very good. She's clever," he addressed me. "But not too clever. No, my date is over there." Trevor pointed to the entrance.

All I saw was a brunette in a long, pleated skirt, pale pink sweater and long white socks with loafers. But Raven saw more. She looked as if she was about to cry.

"I've given her a little make over," Trevor bragged. "And that's not all, baby."

"If you touch her, I'll kill you!" Raven screamed, making a lunge for Trevor's throat.

He grinned wickedly. "I haven't touched her, yet. But there's time. The dance has just begun."

Raven was about to burst into tears. I wanted to console her, but I had no clue what this was all about.

"Raven, what's going on?" I demanded, turning her around to face me. Her eyes were burning with resentment.

Trevor waved his hand for the girl to come over, a smirk most pronounced on his face. The girl wouldn't look Raven in the eyes. She watched the floor. Trevor grabbed her hand and kissed her cheek. Raven cringed and went rigid. Suddenly, I was hit with recollection. The girl was Raven's friend.

"Get off her!" she snapped, grabbing her friend's hand and furtively trying to pull her away from Trevor's clutches.

"Raven, is this the guy who's been hassling you?" I asked.

"You mean he doesn't know me? He doesn't know about us?" I may have imagined it, but I thought his voice sounded delighted.

"There is no 'us'!" Raven explained to me, exasperated. "I pissed him off because I'm the only girl in school who doesn't think he's hot! So now he won't leave me alone. But Trevor, how dare you involve Becky and Alexander!" She turned to shout the last bit at him, her voice biting.

The brunette was still staring at the floor, motionless. So her name was Becky. That's right; Raven told me at the Mansion. No wonder Raven was reacting this way. Her best friend was dating her enemy. I'd freak out too.

"I think it's time to leave Raven alone, dude," I said firmly. Just go bury yourself in the snow and leave ALL of us—Becky included—alone. I hoped he would get the message by reading it in my eyes.

Trevor wasn't as observant as I thought. "Dude? Now I'm the freakoid's pal? We can hang out and play soccer? Sorry, but there's a dress code. No fangs or capes. Go back to the cemetery," he spat.

"Trevor, enough! I'll kick you right now!" Raven stuck her foot out for evidence.

"It's okay, Raven," I said calmly. He didn't say anything I hadn't heard before. "Let's go dance."

"Becky, get away from him! Becky say something! Say something already!" Raven begged. I gave her a little nudge. She remained unmoved.

"She already said something," Trevor declared. "She's said a lot. Its funny how people in this town talk and can't shut up when their daddy's crops might suddenly catch fire from a dropped cigarette," he said, looking directly into Raven's eyes. And then he whirled around to me. "You'll learn who these rumorholics are sooner than you think!"

Raven gave Becky a worried glance. Becky stood there staring at her shoes. "I'm sorry, Raven. I tried to warn you not to come here tonight."

I was still lost. I knew I missed something that they all seemed to know, like an inside joke. "What's he talking about?" I asked, bewildered.

Suddenly, a look of intuition flashed across Raven's expression. "Let's go," she said under her breath urgently. But I stood in my tracks, waiting for an explanation of some sort to come.

"I'm talking about vampires!" Trevor announced dramatically.

My heart stopped beating for a full minute.

"Vampires!" I repeated, trying to regain my wits and achieve a skeptical look.

"Shut up, Trevor!" Raven ordered.

"I'm talking about gossip!" He continued.

"What gossip?" I wondered aloud. "I came here to be with my girlfriend." Everyone looked surprised when I said that.

"Girlfriend?" Trevor asked, astounded. "Then it's official. Are you going to spend all of eternity together?"

My blood was running cold and I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. It was like he could see through the shred of humanity I had and knew all about my real identity. It was as if it was completely spelled out for him. I felt violated.

"Be quiet!" Raven growled.

"Tell him why you broke into his house! Tell him what you saw," he said back, much to my confusion.

"We're outta here!" She turned on her heel and grabbed my arm. I stood my ground.

"Tell him why you threw yourself at him."

"Don't you say another word, Trevor!" Raven's tremor sounded desperate now.

"Tell him why you went to the cemetery!" he continued.

"I said, 'shut up'!"

"And why you fainted."

"Shut up!"

"And why you look at yourself in the mirror every hour!"

"What is he talking about?" I demanded.

"And tell him about this." Trevor thrust a Polaroid under my nose. I took it from him roughly and examined it. I was staring at a picture of Raven's neck, my love bite flaunting itself off for all to see.

"What's this?" I asked Raven. Her eyes widened when she realized what it was.

"She used you," Trevor said, triumphant. "I started a rumor that snowballed. I had everyone in town believing you were a vampire. The funny thing is, your dear, sweet Raven believed the rumors more than anyone!"

"Shut up!" Raven shouted, promptly throwing the remnants of her snow cone in his face. But I couldn't focus on how funny Trevor looked. All I could see was the Polaroid.

"What's going on?" A woman, obviously a teacher, ran over to our group. I turned slowly to look at Raven. I couldn't make sense of this. Raven wouldn't do this . . . would she?

I glanced around helplessly, noticing for the first time that there was a gawking sea of people who were waiting for my come back. They all looked the same; white clothes, similar faces.

I grabbed Raven's hand furiously and led her outside. It was raining slightly.

Becky pursued us. "Wait!" She called.

"What's going on, Raven?" I demanded angrily, ignoring Becky. "How does he know you snuck into my house? How does he know about the cemetery? How does he know about this?" I held the Polaroid directly in her face after my waterfall of questions gushed out.

She looked miserable. "Alexander, you don't understand."

"You never told me why you snuck into my house," I said slowly, ready to gauge her reaction.

Raven stared deep into my eyes. Her own heavenly set were speeding through several emotions at once. Loneliness. Regret. Sadness. She didn't utter a word, just threw her arms around me and squeezed tight. Her silence spoke tomes.

The Polaroid fluttered to the floor as I did something I never thought I'd do; I pushed her away.

"I want to hear it from you," I said firmly.

Tears danced in her broken dark eyes. "I went there to disprove the rumors. To end them! So your family could live in peace."

The world stopped turning. The very oxygen on the planet stopped existing. My personal Earth had imploded.

Her words were like a stake driven into my heart. She had never loved me. She had been toying with me. My eyes started to smart. I should have thought as much. Someone like me could never be with someone like Raven.

"So I was just a ghost story to you, that you had to check out?" I asked weakly. There was pressure on my throat.

"No! No! Becky, tell him it wasn't like that!" Raven looked horrified.

"It wasn't!" Becky piped up. "She talks about you all the time!"

My chest was aching like a speeding hearse rammed into it at full velocity. "I thought you were different, Raven. But you used me. You're just like everyone else," I whispered bitterly.

I turned away from her, but she grabbed my arm. "Don't go! Alexander!" She pleaded. "It's true, I was caught up in the rumors, but when I first saw you, I knew. I've never felt this way about anyone. That's why I did everything else!"

My heart was moaning in agony at how much I desired to believe her words were true. But I squashed down any forgiveness I may have worked up. She had lied to me. She could be lying right now, right to my face.

"I thought you liked me just for being myself—not for who you think you might want to be. Or something you wanted to become," I retorted. And then I ran away, back to the Mercedes and to the solitude of my attic room.

And just like Edward Scissorhands, I wasn't coming out of there. Not again. Not for eternity.


	18. Sunrise

**18: Sunrise **

**I **couldn't face Jameson for quite a few reasons. One, I didn't think that I could explain why I was crying without feeling the world vanishing beneath me. Two, my throat was so tight and painful that I had trouble breathing, let alone talking. And third, I had my pride—I didn't want to be seen so weak and vulnerable.

So, before sealing myself away in my attic, I parked my car in the road next to the cemetery. The electric blue dashboard numbers vanished as I gently twisted the key out of ignition. I can't tell you what time it was, because my eyes didn't seem to be as perceptive as usual. All I had been able to catch was the color of the light flickering into the blank darkness of the car's interior.

My cheeks itched from the salty tears sliding down them, but I didn't brush them away as I would have usually done; it was all I could do just to open the door correctly.

My feet slid onto the gravel path, making a crunching sound. A memory surfaced at the earthy scent in the air—a random, happy memory of the time me and my family had visited the beach. It had been wet and cold then too, and the ground was unstable just as it was now.

The wind was wintry, and it carried the drizzling water over to me. Dark clouds loomed overhead, shrouding the moon into only the faintest blur. A sad, lonely light patch in a field of black.

My eyelashes fluttered against the soft droplets, but at least the cold water wiped away my tear trails. I nearly smiled. Great, more water. Maybe it could just wash me away while it was at it. I remembered reading someplace that there was a type of vampire in a foreign country who was deathly afraid of water.

I looked up over the twisted treetops of the nearby forest at the blinking red light of a water tower. A vampire wouldn't be reasonably afraid of water at all; we don't technically have to breathe, after all. Numbly, I wondered if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

With shaky legs, I slipped through the partially open cemetery gate. Leaves scattered as it creaked, creating a barrier in the path I had been taking. I trudged through them without thinking. I couldn't do anything else. I had to keep moving on.

I walked until my body was numb from the inside out. I walked and walked. I welcomed physical pain to overcome me at any moment, just to know that I was alive.

Finally, I collapsed against my grandmother's monument. I leaned against the cool, wet slab of stone, tucking my legs beneath me. The wind howled a mourning song, whistling against the arch above my head, just below the serious statue of Grandma.

My father once said that when a human looses a loved one, his heart seems to die; but he survives and heals with enough time. As a vampire, I have all the time in the world—yet somehow, because of that, I had a feeling that I wouldn't heal as fast. That I might be an empty shell for a while longer.

This realization didn't help me anymore then I had anticipated. It nearly crushed me, in fact. But I had already been crushed tonight, so it didn't matter. Staked by someone I loved (figuratively); the ultimate death sentence. And I had only been betrayed for who I was—a monster. But was that a real reason to use me like that?

I don't know how many hours I sat on a grave in the rain hating myself for what I had been born as. Hell, I didn't even feel the drowsiness warning me that it was time to shield myself from the dawn. I just continued staring at the horizon, watching as it gradually grew lighter and lighter.

The sun was coming up, I observed dimly. The sun. So warm and bright; so human. I suddenly wanted to see the sun for myself without watching it on a screen. I wanted to witness it more then anything. I wanted to feel the rays touch my freezing pale skin and make me feel alive.

There was a dim glow over the tall, gnarled branches of the trees. It faded the edges of the great blue water tower and made it seem as if it was emanating the light all its own. It was a mellow yellow color; sort of like an Easter egg.

Someone was calling my name. It was amplified by the stillness and peacefulness of the early morning air. It took me a while to realize that I _should _be shouting back. But I just watched as the brightness of the woods grew more noticeable. Now bushes were visible in the pale light of dawn. I could see a spider web hanging between a tree branches and a rose bush. It had trapped lots of sparkling orbs of water.

"Alexander."

My eyes dragged slowly up towards the accented speaker. Jameson looked distressed, I noted lethargically. There was a crease between his eyebrows as his great, green eyes studied me. He must not have seen something he liked, because he began to look desperate. "Are you insane? The sun's coming up!"

I ignored him, focusing on the water tower again. Such a beautiful shade of light blue. So pale that it could have been considered icy; but that may have been the early morning frost stuck to the orb of the structure.

A sliver of stronger, orange light shone at the base of the trees, the barest line I had ever seen. But also the most precious. It was weird how the sun could do that to you.

"Have you been hurt?" Jameson demanded urgently.

The words poked something in me, briefly throwing me into reality again. God, _yes_. 'Hurt' was such a childish understatement; but how could someone find the right word to describe having your heart ripped out? When you were 'hurt,' you could slap a band-aid on yourself and proclaim yourself to be healed. So what was I supposed to do? Would I die just to cut myself off of this torture?

I wondered that as I saw the sun peak out of the trees for the first time in my life. A dazzling shade of crimson, brighter then any shade of blood I had seen. It blazed across the woods, gave the water tower a rosy glow and made the spider web shimmer. I thought I even felt its warmth against my hand as I outstretched it, furtively trying to feel warm. Feel human. So beautiful. . . .

My eyes closed when the sunrays hit me.


	19. Masochist

**19: Masochist**

**J**ameson placed a steaming mug of hot chocoblood in front of me. "That's it. We're flying you back to Romania."

I looked at him blankly, wondering what on Earth he was talking about. I hadn't been following the conversation—actually, I hadn't been aware that we were even having one—and I didn't know what had brought this on.

"What do you mean?" I wondered dully.

He scowled. "I mean that ever since your suicide attempt, you've never been the same. Maybe some good old fashioned Romanian air will cleanse your senses."

It had been only two or three days since the incident with the sunrise. Jameson had told me that after I had fainted against the damp cemetery ground after seeing the sun come up from the woods, he had taken me in his arms and ran for cover. He had brought a blanket, and had covered me with it so I wouldn't get burned. Then, he drove with impressive speed to the Mansion, where he dumped me on the couch, the curtains drawn tight over the windows, not allowing any light to seep through. Or at least, that's how he put it.

I observed the marshmallow platelets floating around my drink, rather than actually drinking it. Steam floated from the frothy liquid in curls of pale white smoke. "It wasn't a suicide attempt."

Jameson's right eyelid twitched. "Right. You were just standing in the middle of the sun's way because you felt the need to get a tan. What's the real reason?"

I stiffened. "I don't want to talk about it." My hand gripped the cloth napkin nearby tightly.

He sat down in the chair next to me, sighing as he settled into the cushion. I felt his eyes asses me. I hated how readable my expressions were. I also hated the fact that he was a relentless, stubborn man.

"Alex," he said softly. He placed a strong hand on my shoulder and I looked into his face. I saw empathy etched in his wrinkles, his eyes sad and pitying. I felt a surge of closeness towards him; he almost never called me "Alex" or "Alexander" without the word "Master" in front of it. It was really . . . endearing.

"It was that girl, Miss Raven, wasn't it?"

Endearing moment over. Damn my perceptive butler. My lips grew tight and I didn't answer.

"Ahh . . . your silence speaks tomes," Jameson said wisely. The grandfather clock chimed in the hallway. I counted the chimes; it was only eight at night.

"Alexander . . . please tell me what happened," he pleaded. "Maybe I can help you. I hate to see you so sad."

I gulped. My throat had become a little too pained again. I glanced at Jameson warily, not sure if I should explain at all. I hadn't explained the last few days to him at all—I had been locked away in my attic, working on a painting, my only excuse to ignore his calling for me to answer the telephone and talk to Raven—and I knew it was extremely rude that I had left him in the dark even though he was taking care of me. But there was nothing to talk about. All I wanted to do was cut myself away from the world forever; and yet here I was, lured out of my bedroom with the promise of hot Chocoblood. I took a sip, letting the burning sensation flow down to my heart.

But maybe it would feel better if I told him. I had once heard that keeping bottled emotions were bad, because they would burst open and hurt somebody someday. Therapists worked wonders on distressed patients. And heaven knows just how distressed I was.

It suddenly came pouring out. All of it. From the moment I had thought she was my Starlight, my reason for existence, even though I had to survive in the darkness. It suddenly became too much to bear alone, like the weight of the world had been dumped on my shoulders.

Jameson sat still as I recalled every emotion of the horrid evening, waiting until the right moments to nod in agreement or clench his teeth in anger. He was a very animated audience.

When I was done, I felt much better. The giant weight was lifted off of me, and I could breathe again. But the pain still lingered, creeping in the shadows. I relaxed against the chair and closed my eyes.

The image of that glorious sunrise flooded my thoughts. How close was I to getting cremated? If Jameson hadn't found me, would I have ducked into the darkness to save myself?

No. I wouldn't have. I would have been too blinded by the beauty to realize the danger.

I opened my eyes to look at Jameson again. He was thinking really hard about something; his fingers were splayed out against his temples and he slowly rubbed them. For the first time, I noticed just how _old_ he looked. Wrinkles were dragged from his eyes to his cheeks. The bags under his eyes were sunk in, and there was a shadow under them. How old _was_ my butler? It suddenly occurred to me that I had never asked him about himself.

"Jameson?"

"Yes?"

"Exactly . . . how old are you?" I asked hesitantly. I didn't know if he would take offense, like many women do when asked that.

"I am one hundred and thirty one years old." He opened one eye, the corner of his mouth quirked up.

I gaped. Well, he did look old, but not quite _that_ old. I told him that and he laughed heartily.

"Are you _actually _that old?" I demanded.

His eyes sparkled. "Perhaps."

I did the math in my head. "So you were born in 1877?" A memory of my history book came into mind. Romania had declared its independence from the Ottoman Empire on May 9th, 1877. My butler was living history.

"Yes. A very dull time indeed. I served as a stable boy for a nearby Count until my family had to move to a town in eastern Romania called Giurgiu. It's near the Danube River."

"Why did you move?"

"Our hut was burned to the ground when my mother had been cooking."

"That's interesting," I said.

"Oh?" Jameson rubbed his chin. "Do you want to hear more?'

"Sure," I tried my best to smile without turning it into a grimace.

He didn't say anything.

"Jameson? You were going to tell me something, right?"

He blinked. "I'm waiting for your questions. I don't know what to say."

"Oh," I said, flustered. "Er . . . did you have hair when you were younger?"

He chuckled. "Yes. I had curly dark brown hair. My little sister and my father were the same. I got my mother's eyes."

"I didn't know you had a sister," I mumbled. "Where is she now?"

He gave me a pained smile. "She's dead."

I immediately bowed my head down, ashamed that I had said anything without thinking. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he said flippantly, waving his hand as if to ward off any offense. "She died when she was twelve. I was seventeen."

"You were my age," I realized numbly.

"Yes—I was considered an adult at the time. I only stayed at my home because my mother was ailing; my father had died by then, too, so it was up to me to arrange my sister's funeral."

"Oh, God," I whispered. "That's terrible!"

"We didn't have enough money to get a fancy casket. I had to ask one of my friends—who was training to be a priest—to do the ceremony. My sister, Cassandra, was buried in an extra large crate in our backyard. We engraved a garden stone for her head stone."

I shuddered. "I . . . I don't know what to say."

"It was perfectly normal back in the day." Jameson smiled and patted my hand lightly. "When my mother died, I packed my bag with what little valuables we had and toured over the country with a band of gypsies."

"Wasn't that considered sacrilegious to be hanging around with people with crystal balls?" I pointed out.

He shrugged. "I didn't have anything to live for anymore. I decided that if I was going to join my family in the dirt soon—the life expectancy was thirty at most—I might as well live the way I wanted to. We got on the wagons and prepared to leave for western Romania."

Jameson's face darkened. "Perhaps that's when I should have gotten off the gypsy train. If I hadn't have gone there, I probably wouldn't have been transformed.

"We were in a small town. It was a cold November, if my memory is serving me correctly. The town was dubbed Timisoara."

"Didn't we go there on vacation once?" I asked.

He gave me an annoyed look. "Yes—I suggested it to your parents and they agreed. Now stop interrupting."

"Sorry."

"In Timisoara, I strayed away from my group. I stayed overnight at a local tavern, convinced that I'd see them again the next day. I was wrong—they had abandoned me, because one of the psychics had had a horrible vision. She saw me attacked by someone with suspiciously sharp teeth. But I only found out why they left _after_ I had run into the man who had changed me."

"You're a vampire."

He gave me a mysterious smile. "No. I'm not a vampire."

"Then what are—"

"Shhh! Let me finish!" Jameson rolled his eyes. After the man, Dimitru, sucked me of my youth, I was left to die. But he accidentally gave me immortality. With the face of an old man, not really killing me; he hadn't taken away all of my life before he was forced to stop feeding. Your father had saved me that night. He hired me after what his brother had done as a way to make up for it. I was only twenty one when I lost my youth."

"So that's how you became my butler," I finished.

"And your guardian." He smiled nostalgically, back in another time period. "I thought loosing my youth was a bad thing—until I saw you as a baby several decades later. And then I had a purpose for living again."

I blinked. A warm, fuzzy feeling started growing in my chest in time with my heart beats. "Really?"

"Yes, really." he laughed. "You were adorable back then. But then you grew up and ruined it." He waggled his finger in a scolding gesture.

I smiled ruefully. "Gee, sorry I did that."

"You better be, young man."

For the first time in a few days, I laughed. It was nice to have a heart to heart with my butler once in a while. Jameson was really the only one I could depend on anymore. As he laughed along with me, I could imagine him; him as a young man in his twenties, dark brown hair messed up and green eyes twinkling. He was trapped in the body of an old man for eternity. What a drag.

"Master Alexander," he said, back to his rigid formality. I knew that our touching little scene had ended when he called me that.

"What?"

He looked away, his face becoming abruptly weary. "I called your parents. You should call them back."

My laughter faded. "Jameson! You told them to take me back to Romania!" I accused.

"You were so depressed, Master Alexander—you were like a zombie, not a vampire. You were there in body but not in soul. I was hoping that by being next to people you loved in your own homeland, you might cheer up a little. And there's no chance of running into that little witch again if you depart immediately." He crossed his arms stubbornly.

"She's not a 'little witch'," I defended.

"Who does that to someone?! You nearly _died_—_"_

"Hold on," I said. I suddenly had a horrible suspicion that made my blood run cold. "You didn't tell me parents that I nearly committed suicide, did you?"

Jameson got a guilty look. He coughed slightly. "It may have come up in the conversation, yes."

"_Jameson!_" I moaned. Without another word, I jumped out of my chair, abandoning my hot Chocoblood, and slipped out of the door towards the phone.

I was so nervous about my mother's reaction that my fingers were shaking as I wound up the dial. A ringing came from the other end. One . . . two . . . when I counted to the third ring, I was ready to hang up. Before I threw it back into place, the phone's receiver started speaking. It was in Romanian. I recognized my father's voice.

"Dad?" I asked hesitantly.

"Alexander?" He sounded surprised. I heard him call my mother's name. "What have you been doing, son? Jameson told us—"

I know," I cut in. "He just told me. Listen, Dad, I should have told you something a while ago. You see, I—"

"Alexander!" my mom exclaimed. I heard my father's muffled cries of pain from when she had tackled him to get the phone.

"Oh . . . hey, Mom."

"What the hell have you been doing?! What has America _done_ to my poor baby?!"

I inwardly swore. "_MOM._ Not a baby anymore, alright?"

She wasn't listening. She was going on a tirade, just like I had feared. Romania would never survive the night. "I thought we sent you there so you _wouldn't _die, but then I hear about you nearly turning yourself into dust! Where did I go wrong?! DAMN MTV FOR THIS INJUSTICE!! It's all that American television that's done this to you!" she sobbed. Then she wailed, presumably bursting into tears; the phone crashed against something hard. The floor?

"Sorry 'bout that," my dad apologized, sounding out of breath. "You mom is just upset that you'd pull a stunt like this." I could hear the disapproval in his voice since it was poorly disguised.

"Dad, I think it's about time that I admit something." I got a big knot in my stomach and I shifted my feet uncomfortably.

"What is it?"

"I had been dating a human girl for about two weeks."

"_What?_"

I cringed. I had hoped that my father would have understood more then my mother. "That was my ear you just blasted out, you know."

"Alexander. I thought you were smart enough not to do that!"

"What?" I started to get angry. "Date a mortal?"

There was a pause. "No . . . I was referring to you not telling us about your girlfriend. Although the human part took me by surprise, too."

"Oh. Alright, then. But it doesn't matter any more, because we broke up." I guessed, anyway. Did finding out that you were getting used automatically end a relationship?

"In two weeks, huh?" he asked, surprised. "Geez. I would have thought you were the long relationship type, not the kind of boy who loves them and leaves."

"_She _betrayed _me,"_ I said quietly.

There was another, more awkward pause. "Oh . . . I'm sorry, Alex. I should have been more sensitive."

I took a deep breath. "That's alright. And before you ask, that was the reason I was watching the sunrise."

"I've been thinking about that," my dad admitted. "I think that it's about time that we got back together again. Your mother and I miss you so much here, and it isn't much of a house with out our little vamp to brighten things up."

"Dad."

"You love Romania—if the Maxwells come back, then we'll help fight them. You don't have to stay in America anymore."

"_Dad_."

"Now, if you want to leave as soon as possible, the next flight leaves tomorrow night. Go to Armstrong Travel agency and—"

"Dad! I don't _want _to go back," I rushed.

I could practically hear him gaping at me. "What? But Alexander . . . you _hate_ your Grandmother's old town."

"I . . . I don't want to leave," I said quietly. "This is my home now; I can't risk your lives, and this is the safest place right now. And I don't want to leave someone behind."

"You're still having feelings for that human girl, aren't you?" Dad said gently. When I didn't say anything, he continued. "As said in Romeo and Juliet, '_with great love comes great heart ache.'_ Or something along those lines. I understand that you still like her, but don't go trying to commit suicide."

I groaned. "It wasn't suicide! When are you people going to realize that? I just wanted to see the sun come up! I like to feel normal, you know?"

"It isn't _normal_ for a vampire to sit and wait to be burned to a crisp, now is it?"

"Being a _vampire_ isn't normal at all."

"It's normal for you and I. It's normal for everyone born and changed that way. Normal is but an opinion, in the end."

I sighed. He wasn't going to let this one go. "Well . . . Jameson's calling me," I said lamely. I had had enough of this conversation for tonight. I was completely drained for the evening.

"I don't hear him—"

"Huh? Yeah, I'll be right there, Jameson!" I called desperately. "Sorry, Dad, Jameson's accidentally set fire to the cat; I have to go rescue it."

"But we don't have a—"

I slammed the phone down onto the hook firmly. Phew; way to strenuous for a fainthearted vampire boy like me to go through. And I had a nagging feeling that if I ran into Jameson again, I'd get another talk. Seeing no other option but to slink back to the attic, I retreated up the steps.

Passing by the den, I got a twisted feeling in the coil of my gut. My eyes trailed over to the inviting leather couch. It was barely a week ago that I had kissed raven there. I felt tears start to sting my eyes and I moved on, touching my fingertips to my lips lightly.

My room was a mess. There were clothes littered all over like my closet threw up; books were spilled over my desk in the corner; I even caught the sight of an old issue of my magazine, _Metal Madness,_ hanging from one of the rafters. My paintings were placed lopsidedly, forever smiling down onto me. But one painting in particular caught my attention. I had draped a sheet over it so Jameson wouldn't see it; he had teased me a little when I had held Raven's coat—which she had left in the car when I had taken off—hostage, explaining that it had her scent. He had called me a perverted teenager.

I couldn't let him see my painting of a certain dark goddess now. He would call me a masochist instead of a pervert.

I tore off the sheet, easel in hand, and let the pain overcome me as I worked. Yes; I had become a real masochist. And the funny thing was, it was all in the pursuit of love.


	20. Night Flowers

**20: Night Flowers**

**A**nd slowly, the following week progressed. It was as if time had dipped itself into cold, murky water, the seaweed entangling it and dragging it down. Time meant little to me, personally; in fact, I wished that it would just ultimately halt. Or perhaps fast forward so much that in the blink of an eye a decade passed.

I was very tempted to accept my parent's invitation back home, which came at least twice each night. They were calling from someplace outside of Romania due to the time difference. When I repeatedly told them that there was no way that I was going back—it killed me to say that—they informed me that they were resorting to letters from now on, since they were tired of flying every night to another country just to call me. I agreed, not really caring at this point.

They had thought that by constantly calling me that I'd be happier; all it had succeeded in doing was making me annoyed. I needed space.

So I was more then happy when Jameson had rented a dozen horror movies and disconnected the phone so it wouldn't disturb the marathon. Sure, it wasn't technically _alone _time because I was hanging out with Jameson, but I was perfectly fine with it. After all, he was supposedly around my age, despite his appearance.

"Which one should we see first?" he asked from his seat on a footstool, his back hunched over the spoils. The movies were spread across the coffee table, a few nearly falling over the side.

"Hmmm . . . _Dead Silence_ seems cool," I muttered thoughtfully. "But no _Dracula_." I was lounging on the leather couch, rather lazily looking at a patch of wallpaper, not really seeing it. My mind was far away, back to a time with Bela Lugosi and the love of my life.

My painting was completed; it was still under the sheet, but I was proud of my artwork. I had made the eyes quite nice, even adding a spark of her rebellion, or perhaps that was my imagination. It tortured me, but looking at her—even only a likeness of her—was well worth it.

"Dammit." Jameson's brow furrowed. "I was getting set for a vampire blood bath."

I cringed. "Gee, do you hate me that much?"

He smiled. "You know what I mean."

I attempted to smile back. "Sure. But I'm feeling the need to watch killer puppets in action."

He turned around and opened the DVD player, placing the disk carefully. After turning off the lights and sitting next to me, he swallowed a fistful of popcorn as the federal warning came up. "So," he whispered, "This any good?"

I gave a small, one shouldered shrug and stole some popcorn from the bowl. "If you like evil ventriloquists that steal tongues."

"I say we watch _Rocky Horror Picture Show_ next."

"But that's not scary," I objected. The opening credits rolled in, with Mary Shaw—the evil ventriloquist—working on her evil puppet, Billy.

"No, but at least it wasn't sucky—if this movie is as bad as the credits are, I'm picking the movies from now on."

I opened my mouth to retort, but he just said, "Don't talk; the movie's starting."

It turned out that it wasn't _me_ who was the chatterbox; Jameson was making comments throughout the entire film; "_So FAKE,"_ "No one looks like that when their tongue is ripped out," "Heh, Mary Shaw reminds me of my great-Aunt Morgana."

The movie screen went black, and Jameson had forced me to choke on popcorn in laughter by the end of it. I was having a lot more fun then I had had in a while.

"Well, that movie sucked," Jameson informed me.

"How so?" I brushed of some stray bits of popcorn from my lap onto the carpeted floor. I grinned when he glared at me. "I thought it was pretty freaky."

"The makeup effects were alright, I'll admit. But as for the _acting_—the key element—that was kind of. . . ." He gave me a thumbs down.

"If you want sucky movies, go watch _It_. That thing was all over the place; one moment some forty years olds are talking about memories, and the next, they're little kids battling a killer clown. _Mr. Jingles_ was way better."

"No way—the worst horror movie of all time is the _GingerDead Man._" Jameson winced, remembering a painful memory. "The acting was terrible; the visual effects stunk; the blood was obviously ORANGE. The movie was an abomination."

"Yeah, it had a more comedic element," I agreed. "But _Rocky Horror _was funnier: that Transylvanian Transsexual song was hilarious."

What about _Frankenteen_ and _Young Frankenstein_?"

I laughed. "Classics! I nearly died watching them."

"Too bad I didn't rent them," he mumbled, gazing forlornly over the tapes.

"It isn't that important," I assured him.

"Still," he sighed, "I should have gotten a better selection."

"Well. . . ." I eyed the cover of _Blood and Chocolate_. "Yeah, you should have. The directors destroyed that movie. Hopefully they won't screw up _Twilight_."

Jameson nodded, knowing that I was referring to one of my favorite romance novels. I had forced him to read it, and he actually enjoyed the series.

"I should probably get going." I looked at my wristwatch and stood up.

"Where are you going?"

"Outside for a spell; I'll be back soon."

"Don't be out too late, alright?" He looked at me pointedly and I knew that he was vaguely implying the _incident_.

"I promise." I gave him a small smile, hoping that it would comfort him, and strode from the den. I was out of the Mansion's front door in seconds, my leather jacket swirling around me as I jumped down the porch.

This was the first time I had been outside the confines of my self-imposed imprisonment since the sunrise a week ago. The cool air brushed serenely against my cheeks, ruffling stray curls resting on my neck. It felt good, and I smiled, breathing in the heady scent of wet dirt.

I knew where I was heading. The graveyard—where else would be best for me? The gate—as it so often was—was left opened, beckoning visitors to be swallowed into its confines. No one was around; just me. I slipped through undetected, only a little afraid that Jim, the caretaker, would be back, prowling the graves. I wouldn't have cared if he had, really; I was in my own little world.

It wasn't too long ago that Raven had been here with me, visiting my grandmother for that picnic. The date had ended in shambles, but it had been a passable one. I closed my eyes bitterly. Dammit. I had opened up my heart and soul for her, just because I was lonely; so ready for love that I couldn't be cautious. _Dammit!_

I stopped next to my grandmother's monument and looked up at her impressive statue. Her face was turned towards the trees where I knew the sun would rise. She had a "bring it on" expression wow; my grandmother, the wild card. I smiled nostalgically and whispered, "Same as always."

Something yellow caught my eye. I focused, confused on the small bundle resting against Grandma's grave. A bouquet of saffron daffodils tied together with a black silk ribbon faced up at me.

For a second, I just stared in utter perplexion. Who would place flowers on Grandma's grave other then me? Jameson didn't come here; and if he did, he certainly didn't mention it.

It couldn't be him. And two other people who would have done it were in Romania right now. I racked my brains in concentration. _Who else?_

Click. My brain suddenly decided to put two and two together. Someone who knew about my grandmother; someone who knew how much I cared for her; someone who knew that I brought flowers, specifically daffodils, to her monument.

Raven had given my grandmother flowers.

My eyes started to tear up (No, I'm not joking. They were actually starting to mist over) and my throat felt weird again. Except this time, when I cried, it wasn't because she had used me.

It was because Raven actually liked me enough to respect my adoration for my grandmother. I knew then, more then ever before, that Raven and I—despite the fact that I was a vampire and she was a mortal—were more similar then we were different.

I felt myself start to come alive again.


	21. Angry Villagers

**21: Angry Villagers**

**I **picked up the bouquet carefully and sniffed the perfumed petals. Yes; coming from the black ribbon was Raven's scent. It was in a small bow, but it was beautiful. And it even had the smell of type O positive—the most common blood type in all of America, including Raven.

A barking pierced through the air. I dropped the flowers before my grandmother's grave and glared into the thicket of the cemetery. I saw Luke the Great Dane bounding over to me in the distance, dodging low tombstones by leaping clear over them.

"Awh, crap!" I whispered. Even though I wouldn't have cared about Jim, I wasn't one to love Luke. I don't think any sane person would like to run into a carnivorous animal that was a crossbreed between a primate and a dinosaur.

I transformed into a bat and flapped off. Luke howled up at me miserably. I felt guilty about taking off, even though it wasn't rational to be so, and I made a mental note to send him some prime dog biscuits. The poor beast needed someone to be with other then that old coot. Maybe next time I'd stick around to play with him. I glanced back down at his sad form as I circled in the sky.

Sighing, I dropped into a graceful little dip and perched behind a tombstone. Luke's ears perked up when I morphed back into a long haired teenager, standing rather awkwardly behind a grave.

"Here, doggy." I snapped my fingers and made a clicking noise with my tongue.

Luke's ears went back and he crouched, baring his inch long canines in his snarling mouth. His lips were curled dangerously; a glob of saliva dribbled down onto the ground, landing on a dandelion. It was drenched in a pool of spit; the stem slumped to the earth.

"Ingrate," I mumbled. I felt my fangs elongate and I hissed at him. The Great Dane whipped his tail between his legs and whined.

I felt my leg brush against a stick on the ground. Gently, I picked it up and whistled at Luke. He stiffened, staring at the stick like a hunter. With all my strength, I threw the branch deeper into the cemetery grounds. He bounded after it into the darkness.

Luke came back shortly afterward and dropped the stick at my feet, a big doggie grin with the tongue lolling out panting up at me. I chuckled and picked up the branch, shivering when I touched the saliva. EW. I had a slight allergy to dogs—one of the reason's we had never gotten one—and I was particularly allergic to their spit. As long as I didn't touch my face before washing my hands, I wouldn't burst into hives. I chucked the stick into the night and wiped my hand against my coat.

Luke tore after it with a gusto and trotted back, holding his trophy proudly in his mouth. He sat down next to me and placed it in front of his paws. His tail thumped happily in the weeds.

I smiled and scratched his head. His eyes closed and he leaned against me, wanting some more attention. He was such a beautiful creature, I realized. Despite his vicious appearance, he was a real mush inside. Luke even had a small white patch around his left eye that matched his snowy boots; the rest of his fur was a warm, chocolate brown. Hmm—fuzzy chocolate. I liked that analogy.

I'd have to create a portrait of him. He was on his back, wiggling a little, begging for a tummy rub. "You're a cute little thing, aren't you?" I gushed. I rubbed his stomach and cooed a little more.

"Luke!" a man shouted in the distance. A beam from a powerful flashlight zipped around near the entrance.

Luke whined, glancing apologetically up at me.

"Go ahead," I urged. I nudged him a little with my foot and he got up. He lumbered over to his master, barking all the way.

I transformed again, taking to the sky. I soared over Luke and Jim as I made my way back to the Mansion. "Good boy, Luke," Jim praised. "You're a faithful dog." He scratched him on the head. "Let's go."

------------------------------------------------------------

"Master Alexander," Jameson said as I came in through the door. My attempt at stealth was not very good; I'd need to brush up on that.

"Yes?" I placed a hand on the smooth wooden banister, trying to give him a hint that I wanted to slip away.

"We have pizza if you're interested. And I rented _Billy the Kid VS. Dracula_."

"What the hell? Are you serious?"

He shrugged. "Vampire westerns are funny."

"I saw that movie," I said darkly. "Now _that_ sucked."

"So I take it that's a 'no' for the pizza, eh?"

"Yeah, it is." I smiled a little hesitantly. "Jameson. I need to tell you something."

"You didn't bid on another pair of hundred dollar boots, did you?" He glared at me.

"No! That only happened one time!" I exclaimed, insulted.

"You've finally come to your senses and are agreeing to go to Romania!" he guessed. "Speaking of which, your parents sent an important looking letter—"

"No," I said firmly. "I'm not going back. It has to do with Raven."

Jameson got a sour look. "What about her?"

I frowned. "Geez, Jameson; you'd think that it was you who had had his heart handed to him."

"She's a menace," he spat.

I rolled my eyes and chose to ignore that. "I've decided to forgive her."

There was a moment of silence. Jameson was staring at me blankly, not breathing or blinking, waiting for the punch line. I felt myself mimic him. We just stood there for an endless round of seconds, just the clock ticking letting us know that time was passing by.

"You're on crack," Jameson announced. His voice broke the spell, and I snapped out of it immediately.

"No, I'm sure about this."

"We've got to get you to a therapist."

"Jameson, I'm not kidding."

"Neither am I." He shook his head and started walking away.

"I'm not kidding, either; I forgive her or it all," I told him. As I said it, the words felt _right_. I _did_ forgive her. How could I not?

His eyes widened when he noticed how my face didn't have a hint of sarcasm. "You're . . . serious?" he whispered in shock.

"Yes." I stepped a little closer to him. "I forgive her completely. She never _used _me—and if she did, it was only in the beginning. She really did like me; that part was real, at least. And in the end, at the Snow Ball . . . she tried to tell me that she really cared, that she wanted to let us live in peace . . . but I was too confused to listen. I think that I may have been the one to break the relationship."

"Don't be stupid," he immediately argued. "You nearly died—"

I raised a hand and made him fall silent. "An over reaction on my part."

"I can't believe this," he growled.

"Well, you better. Because I'm not kidding at all about this matter. I Raven drops by or calls, I want you to be extremely polite," I warned.

"Yeah, I'll politely hit her over the head with a shovel," he said under his breath as he creeped away again.

"Jameson!" I barked.

"Fine. I don't like it, but I'll do it."

"Good." And with that having been said, I walked up to my coffin in the hidden room. I was starting to feel the familiar drowsiness of an impending sunrise.

---------------------------------------------

I knew that something had gone drastically wrong from the second I had wakened up early. Vampires usually sleep without a problem until sunset, so waking up early, even if it was only an hour earlier than intended, was highly unusual. Another thing that worried me was that I heard noises in the front yard. Voices, to be specific.

Suspiciously, I slipped on my studded combat boots. The voices weren't supposed to be able to penetrate through the thick room's walls. Something serious was happening. I struck a match and lit the candle next to my coffin, the sparse little room becoming clearer with its flickering glow.

I pulled on the lock and let myself out into the cooler air of my bedroom. There was a small patch of sunlight pooled on the floor, which I promptly scooted around and avoided. I opened the door and called out to Jameson.

No answer. That was strange; he usually ran to me when I called.

"Jameson?" I called again nervously.

Nothing but silence aside from the voices—now louder—outside. My blood chilled. This couldn't possibly be. . . .

Long ago, in the eighteenth century, my relative had been unearthed from his hiding place by a group of angry townspeople in a mob. They had caught a vampire, and they knew it. He was staked. They had called it purification. I call it murder.

This reminded me of that time; and I didn't like it at all.

My blood was cold as I thundered down the staircase, stopping to peer slightly behind a curtain that blocked the dreadful sunlight. My eyes closed, horrified.

There was a mob of people dressed in black and armed with lit torches on my lawn. What got me the most was the wooden stake and the brutal-looking hammer that some were carrying.

Geez, how cliché could you get?


	22. Monster Mash

**22: Monster Mash**

**A**lright. No need to panic. I stepped back slowly from the curtain and made sure that I wasn't spotted by the angry mob that had flocked to my house. The voices were getting louder, more excited, from the other side of the heavy wooden door.

In a weird way, I always knew that I'd die like this. The townspeople were going to either stake me or drag me out into the light to burn. Both options sounded really vicious and unappealing.

It may interest you to know that my heart _wasn't_ beating too fast and I _wasn't _scared out of my wits. No; I'm cooler under pressure than you realize. Really.

_Where's Jameson?_ I wondered. A small kernel of dread grew in the pit of my guts. I would have seen him by now, surely. Maybe he had gone out to the butcher for some more blood.

The crowd had little kids in it; they were screaming in fun while the adults talked.

Holy crap. Did the Dullsvillians kill Jameson?

No, I realized when I heard his creepy laugh from outside, he just joined forces. The question was, was he _really _on their side, or mine? Maybe he was a double or triple agent.

Ugh; I watched too many movies.

The doorknob suddenly turned. Someone was coming inside; Jameson? Or a potential burglar?

Not wanting to find out that it was a burglar after all, I braced myself, feet apart and fists ready, to fight them off.

A teenaged boy with slicked back brown hair, Doc Martins and a tight, black Alice in Chains T-shirt slipped inside. He had a muscular body, the kind of person that you didn't want to get into a fight with, that made me think of a wrestler. He was deeply tanned with hazel eyes.

"Who are you?" I demanded. Okay, now my heart was beating fast; Muscle Dude had a hammer in his hand.

His head whipped around to see the person who had talked. It was clear that I startled him, but he was very good at hiding it. "Um, hey," he said cheerily, "I'm Matt Wells. I'm your neighbor."

"And that gives you a right to sneak into my house?" I raised an eyebrow, sizing him up. If I used my heightened senses as a vampire, I could take him on; even though he was more muscular then I could ever be, he was shorter by about two inches.

"No! It's not like that," he said quickly. "Jameson told me to go on inside for the bathroom."

"And you brought a hammer . . . to convince yourself to go to the bathroom correctly?" My eyes narrowed. This story was a load of bull.

He blushed, indignant. "Hey man, I have a reason for this hammer!"

"Vandalizing? Or murder?"

"No – a 'welcome to the neighborhood' party."

That threw me for a bit. "A party? I didn't know Jameson was planning one."

"He hadn't been." Matt smiled. "I realized that we hadn't exactly been the nicest to you and your family, and decided to throw a suitable 'welcome to the neighborhood' bash. I hope you don't mind too much."

"No, its okay," I said, chewing this info. "By the way, the bathroom is up the stairs and to the right; the second door with the bronze handle."

"Thanks." He went up the stairs hastily.

Warily, I peered out from the curtain again. I had a little while before the sun fully went down; I wouldn't be able to explore the party until then.

Matt's story made sense. There was a group of people setting up a dunking booth on the front lawn near the fence, a refreshment table covered in candy and soft drinks, and a boom box that someone had brought over playing Type O Negative's version of "Paint it Black." The rusty, cast-iron gate had bright red streamers twirled around the bars, and a big banner with black block letters was wrapped proudly on it. **'WELCOME TO THE NEIGHBORHOOD!' **

I saw little kids running around in vampire capes trying to bite each other and smiled. It reminded me of when _I_ was a little boy who played Vampire Tag with the other little monsters.

Jameson was chatting quite amiably with a beautiful supermodel-like woman with obviously dyed black hair. She had on a skin-tight black PVC dress, black vinyl go-go boots that looked as if they were from the 80's and bright red lipstick. Her white poodle was tied to a black studded leash and looked positively miserable in his black doggie sweater.

When Jameson winked more than the recommended dose at the woman, I got a suspicious little feeling that he had a crush. My suspicions were confirmed when the Barbie-like woman bent over to kiss his cheek and he blushed. I made a mental note to tease him a little bit in the future, as he had done to me.

A thought occurred to me: a neighborhood party meant the _neighborhood. _Most people would attend out of good manners. Would Raven come? My heart pounded. Please let her come, I prayed.

Matt came bounding down the stairs at that moment. He stopped right next to me and put a hand on my shoulder. "Are you going out anytime soon?"

"Maybe later. Is Raven here?" I asked desperately.

He screwed up his face in concentration. "No, but my girlfriend Becky is here; I can get her to drive over to Raven's and pick her up, if you want."

I smiled, relieved. "Yes, please."

Matt opened the door and stood back, waiting. "You can wait for her outside."

"Nah."

"Why not?" He frowned.

"The sun." I smiled at him.

He laughed, not realizing that I was serious. "Okay then, dude." He went out the door and shut it behind him loudly.

I sighed, sinking into a leather armchair, and glanced impulsively at my wristwatch. Only a little more time to wait and then I could go out.

Raven would be here soon. What would I possibly say to her? How could I convey what my feelings and thoughts were to her when they were a mystery even to me?

First off, I needed to think seriously about it; my thoughts were logical, but my heart was all over the place. On the one hand, I was in love with an amazing girl who really cared about me. She understood me and knew the feeling of being alienated from the world. And I'd like to believe that we found peace in each other's company due to the bond we had between us.

But on the other hand, the girl who I had fallen for had only gone out with me to find out a big town mystery. She had used me, led me on, and ultimately almost caused me to lose my life, no matter how much I had tried to deny it. I should be resentful—unforgiving for the way that she had treated me. not willing to give her my heart again for fear that she'd stake it for good.

But somehow, no matter how many strikes against her, I just couldn't remain angry about it. my brain was saying "be angry" while my heart was saying "forgive." I decided to compromise between the two: I'd be cautious.

I looked at my watch again. The sun was fully set now; it was safe to go outside. Gingerly, I stood up and strode to the door, pulling it open a little bit to check the crowd. It was only about thirty people walking around, and it felt more comfortable since they were all dressed in black for the occasion. I took a chance and slipped through to the outside.

A few heads turned in my direction and gave me a fleeting glance as I walked over to Jameson, but that was it. I felt self-conscious in my Vampire Lestat band shirt, as if it had suddenly grown too big for me, like a child in his father's shoes.

"Hey," I greeted him. the woman went off with her dog to get some soda from the refreshment table, leaving me to my butler.

"Hello, Master Alexander," Jameson said, chipper. He had a big grin. "Fabulous evening, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is nice," I replied. Along the yard, someone had set up lit Tiki torches resembling something one might see at a Luau. The flames danced in the cool night breeze. "So . . . who's the PVC woman with the poodle?"

"Her name is Ruby," he gushed. "She was at the Armstrong Travel Agency. I've asked her to dinner and she said yes!"

I blinked, startled. "How did you manage that?"

Jameson smiled, a bit smug. "I have something you haven't been blessed with; it's called 'suave'." And then he flounced away towards his new lady, leaving me standing there awkwardly with my mouth dropped.

"Alexander!" A little kid, around ten years old, flew up to me in vampire cape and fake fangs.

"Erm . . . yes?" I asked, stiffening. I may have mentioned it before, but I didn't feel comfortable with little kids.

"I'm Billy, Raven's brother," he explained.

"You're her brother? Is Raven here?" I demanded.

"No, she's at home."

"Oh." I felt my face fall.

"She's been locking herself in her room for over a week," he whispered conspiratorially. It was obvious that this had been supposed to be a secret for the Madison family.

I felt a pang. She felt miserable, too. "Really? By the way, nice cape; you'd give a real vampire a run for his money."

Billy gave me a fanged grin. "Thanks!"

"William Madison, get back here!" A woman in black hippie bellbottoms, black platform sandals, a silky noire shirt and a string of ruby red 1970's love beads marched over to us. After a second, I realized with a shock that it was Mrs. Madison. Behind her, in black rimmed John Lennon glasses, tight black Levi's and a half-buttoned shirt, was Mr. Madison.

"Gotta fly!" Billy ran off with a flourish of his cape. His parents went after him.

The party was really lively; all around the Mansion, people danced and laughed: "Monster Mash," "Scars," and even a heavy metal version of Crank Dat Sholja Boy, blasted from the stereo sitting amongst the chips and candy. Jameson and Ruby were flirting near the weeping willow tree outside the parlor window, unaware that Ruby's dog was now choking on something. I guessed it was a Skittle, because an open bag of them rested beside the dog, it's contents spilt on the grass.

A single light came from the topmost window—my bedroom. I had forgotten that I had left the lights on. I started up the porch steps to get inside and turn it off.

"Master Alexander!" Jameson called. "Wait! I forgot to tell you!"

"What is it?" I had my foot on the top step.

"Your parents sent a letter; it's on the counter. It seemed rather urgent since they sent it express-style. Read it tonight, please."

"Okay," I said. I trooped through the door to the kitchen, where I saw the black wicker basket where Jameson usually stuffed the mail. An official looking envelope with my family's crest on the front was at the top of the pile. It seemed almost ominous.

Curiously, I grabbed it and flipped it over. The address had been very sloppily written, as if my parents had been in a real hurry to tell me something. My blood chilled just a little bit—I had a feeling that something very bad was in this letter. Something important. I started to open it, but halted suddenly.

"Alexander?" Raven called softly from the foyer.

I dropped the letter back on the pile, forgetting it and it's urgency in an instant.


	23. The Truth

**23: The Truth **

**I **quickly ducked into the next room away from Raven like the coward I was. My heart was beating irregularly fast and I felt at a loss for words as I skillfully pressed my back against the wallpaper. What was I going to tell her? For some reason, all previous thoughts had vanished.

"Alexander?" she called again. She was in the kitchen. I heard her boots against the floor; she was moving on to the grand staircase. It creaked under her weight.

Carefully, making sure that I wasn't seen, I followed. I crouched down and hid behind an armchair. She didn't know that I was watching her from behind.

Faintly, I heard the sound of a TV blaring from the den. I recognized Renfield's voice, the part when he was telling the psychologist about Count Dracula. Jameson must have been watching it and left it on; I couldn't remember it playing when I woke up, but I was under stress at the time, so I had an excuse.

Raven walked into the den cautiously. "Alexander?"

I shrank back into the dark corner like an oversized chameleon, still trying to grasp my game plan. But all I could think about was how similar this moment was to when she had first snuck into the Mansion.

_Dammit, say something! _I inwardly kicked myself. _Do something! She's in the room! _Hoping to encourage myself, I bribed my appetite with a whole bottle of A-positive in the near future if I walked up and spoke. Unfortunately, I was not easily swayed.

Raven came out of the den, walking quietly down the hallway. "Alexander?" She stopped before the pale red-carpeted staircase leading to my bedroom. She seemed to debate ideas in her head before going up to my door.

Crap. Didn't I tell her _not_ to go in there? I watched carefully from my hiding spot; she knocked on the door softly and called my name. Then, when no reply came, she gently twisted the knob and opened the door a little.

Just when I was about to stop her, she halted and stared at the knob. Raven took a step away from the door and shut it tightly.

I was blown away. She had actually respected my privacy _not _to go in my room. I wasn't able to dwell too much on it, because I suddenly realized something very bad and very obvious—she was going to be coming my way when she went down the stairs.

I did what came natural to me; I transformed into a bat so quickly that I became disoriented when I flew down the main staircase. I morphed back to a human behind a statue of Athena, the Greek goddess of wisdom, which my Dad had imported from an art show in Europe. The door was open; the party was still in full form. I could smell candied apples in the breeze.

Raven stopped just before the doorway, sensing my presence at last. I came from out of my hiding place and stood, waiting, until she turned all the way and faced me.

I stopped myself from flinging my arms around her and kissing her everywhere. She was still as lovely as ever; a tight black T-shirt, hip hugging black jeans and wide, dark holly-green eyes. Lonely, loving, apologetic, intelligent and reckless eyes.

"I never meant to hurt you," she rushed. "I'm not what Trevor said. I've always liked you, for who you are!"

I didn't reply; I was too busy trying to think of a brilliant answer. I was distracted, however, because Raven didn't have any makeup on. It was like seeing a clown out of his costume—bad analogy, I know—and it surprised me. She had exceptionally long eyelashes and healthy rose lips. Had she been too distraught to continue on with putting on eyeliner? It didn't matter; in my life, she already glowed.

"I was so stupid," Raven continued. "You're the most interesting thing that's ever happened to Dullsville. You must think I'm so childish."

Still, I remained quiet, studying her.

"Say something. Say I was totally third grade. Say you hate me," she pleaded.

That did it. How could such a wonderful woman think that I, a monster, could hate her? She was under a terrible misconception if she thought that was possible. "I know we are more similar than different," I said slowly, choosing my words carefully before speaking.

"You do?" She looked surprised.

"My grandma told me." I smiled shyly.

"She speaks to you?" Raven's eyes darted around, anticipating an attack from another world.

"No, she's dead, silly! I saw the flowers." I felt my heart flutter. I got an idea; it was about time I showed my dark muse what she had inspired. I extended my hand, much like the first time I had beckoned to her, and made a decision. "There's something I want to show you."

She had a choice to grab my hand; she could either run away like the time she had snuck in, or she could be with me. Raven chose to grab my hand. "Your room?" she wondered aloud as I pulled her back up the creaky stairs.

"Yes, and something in my room. It's finally ready."

"It?"

I gave her a mysterious smile and quirked my eyebrow. She allowed herself to be led to the attic staircase, where I stopped just before my door. "It's time you knew my secrets," I announced, opening it. "Or at least most of them."

Raven came in, observing my room with excited eyes. I watched as she looked at the beat-up comfy chair that hid my coffin room, the twin-sized mattress that rested on the floor, its black comforter messed up, revealing maroon sheets. And then she finally noticed the artwork. She walked along the row of my paintings; Big Ben with bats, a castle on a hill, an upside down Eiffel tower, and lastly my grandparents. Raven grinned when she saw the painting of my grandmother's statue, and it got even bigger when she looked at the drawing I had done for sun of the trick-or-treaters on the lawn.

I relaxed. She liked them after all. All this time, I'd been afraid to show her my room because I thought she'd hate my paintings. But she liked them! "Those are from my dark period," I joked.

"They're spectacular," she breathed, drawing closer. My heart rate soared, and for a second I thought she could hear it.

I felt my face heat up. "I wasn't sure you'd like them," I admitted nervously.

"They're unbelievable!" Her eyes traveled to the canvas with the sheet covering it, became mildly confused, and stayed there.

"Don't worry, it won't bite," I encouraged her.

She paused with her hand on the corner of the sheet, not sure if she should do it. But slowly, she peeled it away, dropping it to the paint splattered floor.

Raven stared at herself, the painted image different from the real thing in small ways: the painting had on the dress she had worn to the Snow Ball, with the blood-red rose corsage attached to it delicately. She carried a pumpkin basket over the nook of her arm from Halloween; a Snickers bar on her outstretched palm and a spider ring on her index finger. She had fangs grazing her bottom lip, as white as the glistening snow and bright stars in the background.

"It looks just like me! I never imagined you were an artist," she said, blown away. "I mean, I knew you did those drawings in the basement and then the paint on the side of the road. . . . I had no idea."

Paint on the road? A memory of a car nearly squishing me into vampizza hurtled into memory. "That was you?"

"Why were you standing in the middle of the road?"

"I was going to the cemetery to paint this picture of my grandmother's monument."

"Don't most artists use little tubes?"

"I mix my own." I shrugged.

"I had no idea," she whispered again, in awe. "You're an artist. Now it all makes sense."

"I'm glad you like it. We better get back to the party before we give them something to really gossip about."

"I guess you're right. You know how rumors spread in this town." She hesitated when I moved to let her go out the door first. "But before we go . . . I'd like to . . . . ," She blushed, and her gaze flitted down to my lips and back up to my eyes.

My blood started to rush and my stomach was filled with bats. "Yeah, I think I understand what you mean," I said, my voice suddenly husky. I pulled her to me and melted my lips against hers, hot and sweet and alive. Every now and again, we would break apart to take a breath, but we had ended up laying on my bed, out hands entwined in the others air or on our backs, gripping at our shirts.

As our tongues tasted each other, I couldn't help but feel at peace with the world. Everything seemed so right when I was in her arms.

---------------------------- xxx -------------------------

After out steamy reunion kiss, (nothing else than a make out session, no intercourse, much to my screaming manhood's chagrin) we returned to the party outside.

Moths flitted in the air as everyone moshed together. I fixed Raven a glass of crème soda and handed it to her. "Isn't it weird?" I asked as I poured myself a drink of pineapple Fanta. "We aren't the outcasts tonight."

A breeze ruffled the lavender bush and the orchard tree next to us. I enjoyed the floral scent very much; this was home to me now.

"Let's enjoy it now. it'll all be back to normal tomorrow." Her smile faltered as she focused on a figure steadily sprinting up the driveway towards us. "Trevor!" she hissed. "What's he doing here?

I was wondering that myself, but he answered our question when he spoke up.

"He's a monster!" Trevor yelled, coming closer to the party. Everyone froze. He pointed a finger accusingly at me. "His whole family."

"Not this again," Raven snapped, rolling her eyes. "Alexander, go back inside." She gave me a little push, bit I stayed still, glaring at Trevor. I was ready to end this for good. My rarely used muscles flexed as my adrenaline pumped.

"He hangs out in the cemetery for freakin' sake!" Trevor shrieked, gesturing towards me wildly. "There were no bats in this town before he came!"

"And there weren't any losers in this town before you came," Raven retorted. Trevor got a fleeting look of hurt, but it was replaced by a scowl in seconds.

"Raven, calm down," Mr. Madison, who was in the crowd, warned.

Matt suddenly broke away from the group with a tall, heavily suntanned man that looked similar to him. Family members, perhaps. "Enough of this!" he ordered.

"Look here! I've been attacked!" Trevor pulled down his shirt a little to expose a small scratch on his neck. "By a bat! I'm going to have to get freakin' rabies shots!" He shot me a venomous glare, as if it had been me who had gone after him.

"Let it go, Trevor," Matt said wearily.

Trevor wheeled around to face him, and if it was possible, he looked even meaner. "It happened on the way here. I'd called your house and your mom said you were partying at Freak Mansion," he snarled. What's up with that? You were supposed to be hanging out with me!"

Matt gave him a withering glance. "You've done this to yourself. I'm through driving you around town so you can spread your stupid rumors. You've played me long enough, Trev."

"But I was right! They are vampires!" Trevor looked around the crowd pleadingly.

"And I was right not to invite you," Matt shot back.

"You guys are crazy. Partying with freaks!" Trevor spat out, giving everyone a nasty look.

"Okay, Trevor, that's enough," Mr. Madison said angrily, stepping towards him to cool him down.

"I didn't have anything to do with this," I quickly interjected. I wanted to clear my name by any means possible.

"I think we know that," said Raven.

"But—" Trevor started.

"I'd rather not have to call your father," Mr. Madison threatened, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Trevor shook it off, his angry blue eyes thirsting for blood. When he realized that no one in the crowd believed him, he started to get desperate. "You just wait—my father owns this town!" he shouted. And then he took off, back to the hole he had crawled out from under.

"Don't forget to use some ice on that," Mrs. Madison called at his retreating form. If he had heard her, he didn't show it.

"He needs a tranquilizer, not ice, Mom," Raven muttered.

The crowd got very uneasy from the visit from a beast. I was grateful when Mr. Madison salvaged the night by saying, "Well, we planned on a singing telegram, but they must have gotten the order wrong." The party laughed in relief, and began again in time with music.

"Sorry you had to go through that," Raven whispered as we thrashed along to the cyber sounds of Zombie Girl.

I chuckled, putting my hands on her lower back and twirling her to the gazebo. The partygoers were far away from us, so there was no danger of us being overheard. I slid my arm over her shoulder and we watched the moon slip in and out from the smoggy clouds.

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me," I told her suddenly, breaking the stillness.

"Really? I feel the same way."

"I love you more than anything, but . . . . ," I stopped, unsure if I should continue at all.

"Yes?"

"You do know that I'll always have some secrets I'd rather keep from you, right?" I looked down at her cautiously.

Raven thought about this. "Yes," she answered. "I won't like it, but it's bound to happen. However, when you feel like you can trust me with your deep, dark secrets," she smiled mischievously, "You can tell me at any time you wish."

I smiled back, looking into the great big eyes of the girl who was my life, and made a life-altering decision. "Alright," I agreed.

I'd tell her my deep, dark secret. Eventually.

**--------------------**

Much alter, at about midnight, I left Jameson and Raven to clear the little bit of party trash that had been made. The little kids running around in capes gave me an idea; I dug around in my closet until I found a formal black cape. Not the fake costume ones, the real deal. The kind of cape vampire men wore on their wedding nights.

After tying it securely around my neck and slicking back my hair, I forced my fangs to unsheathe. I descended down the stairs towards my human girlfriend.

"My dream vampire," she said with a sigh. Raven had put on her makeup again—her lips were like noire petals. I pulled her closer seductively.

"You tried to save me tonight," I purred. "I will be eternally grateful."

"Eternally," she repeated with a big smile. She liked my outfit, that was for sure.

"Hopefully someday I'll return the favor." I gave her a flirty look and nibbled her neck with my fangs suggestively. She giggled.

"I don't want to go," she finally said. "But Becky is waiting. See you tomorrow? Same bat time? Same bat channel?" She winked. I just blushed and nodded, grinning like an idiot.

I walked her over to the door and gave her a playful nip on the neck. She laughed at my antics and grabbed my left fang. "Ouch!" I exclaimed when she tugged it. It throbbed painfully.

She frowned. "You aren't supposed to Superglue them on!" she scolded.

I cocked my head to the side. "Raven, you don't still believe in vampires, do you?"

"I think you've cured me of that. But I'm still keeping the black lipstick."

I kissed her goodnight, good and long. Sparks swirled up and blinded me from the electricity of our connection. Finally, I was forced to let go when Becky gave an impatient honk from her pickup truck.

Raven gave me a loving smile before turning to leave. She bent over to pick up a compact mirror on the doorstep, which she flipped open, her lipstick in her other hand. She started walking to Becky's truck.

"Sweet dreams," I called softly.

Raven froze in mid-step. She turned her head back to look at me, and then looked back at the mirror, alarmed.

_Crap._ I hadn't meant to be found out so quickly! I shut the door hastily and slid my back against it. I couldn't believe I had been so stupid. She knew. She knew I had no reflection. She knew I was a vampire.

As I saw it, I had three options: one, I could tell her that it was a fluke of the light and that I _did_ have a reflection. But that might be tricky, because she might want to see my reflection to prove it.

Option two: I could leave Dullsville and let her carry on with her own life. It would be like waking from a bad dream for her; over time, she might even forget about me and move on. I might suffer the longest since I had nothing but the cold wasteland of eternity to look forward to, but I could find a vampire woman when the time was right. After all, I couldn't risk putting another mortal in such peril.

And three, I could just roll with it. So what if she knew I was a vampire? It didn't mean our feelings for the other changed. There were many vampire-human relationships out there that had worked. Why would ours be any different?

I remembered the urgent letter my parents had sent, and retrieved it, bringing it upstairs with me as I thought.

Option three was the way to go—it didn't hurt anyone, at least. I paused before my attic window to peer out on the lawn from behind my dark window. Raven was still out there, looking up at me. I smiled adoringly and pressed the window with the palm of my hand.

"Goodnight, my love," I whispered. She began to outstretch her hand, as if to touch mine. I just smiled and backed away from the window, turning off the lamp as I went.

The letter was thin; I tore it open and roughly pulled out its contents, my eyes immediately drawn to bold black letters.

**Alexander,**

**HE IS ON HIS WAY!**


	24. Protection

24: Protection

**24: Protection******

_**Alexander,**__**  
**__**HE IS ON HIS WAY!**__**  
**__**Jagger has tracked down our lineage to your grandmother's town; he has gotten an apartment in the next town over. He is searching cemeteries for Grandmother's monument; once he finds it, he'll know where you are.**__**  
**__**LEAVE AT ONCE!**__**  
**__**Your parents**_

I had no clue that I had ripped the note in half until I was staring down at its pieces. I stuffed the shorter bit back in the envelope and tossed it on top of a red paint can. The other half trembled in my hand. 

"Jameson!" I yelled. I bolted from my room and went straight to his bed chamber. Something hard was rising in my throat and I couldn't squelch it—and the feeling of shock—down. In the back of my head, I realized that I had never gone into my butler's room before. He'd been in mine frequently, but I had never once visited his. 

Jameson looked up from his Playboy magazine, which he promptly attempted to hide under his suede comforter. The walls were beige with dark brown wooden borders that matched his bed and headboard. A small closet annexed from the bedroom, next to a tall dresser topped with an ancient stereo and several Barry White CDs. 

"What's the rush? Where's the fire?" He stood, giving me a concerned look. 

"We have to leave. Jagger's coming!" I thrust out the torn letter for him to read, and his eyes quickly scanned over it. By the time he was done, he had an air of determination about him. 

"Alright, no need to panic. I know what to do." Jameson wrenched open the closet door and took out a mauve leather suitcase. He threw it on the bed and zipped it open. "Go pack your things. We're leaving." 

I watched as he yanked all his clothes from their hangers and threw them into the bag. As he pushed them inside, he gave me a look. "What? Go pack! We're leaving for Romania." 

"We don't have tickets, though." 

He proceeded to dump all his suits into his suitcase. "I bought two tickets," he said roughly, trying to stuff them in, "just the other day." 

I glared at him. "Even though I said that I wouldn't be going?" 

"They were for just in case. And look, it was worth it after all." He waved his arms for emphasis. 

As I watched him throw in his toothbrush and toothpaste, a grim realization overcame me. I was going back to Romania. I wasn't going to come back to this mansion for the rest of my life. I would never have to deal with this horrid town and most of its inhabitants. But that's what made me freeze up; I wasn't going to be able to see Raven again. 

The world felt irrepressibly small. I felt the air in my lungs, but it was if I wasn't breathing in anything important; nothing to keep me alive. I was watching Jameson bustling about, but not really seeing him. The Earth twirled faster and faster until I couldn't take it anymore. I remember hitting the floor and my name being called, but then it went all dark. 

Passing out wasn't so bad. It was interesting. I could feel myself spiraling upward towards the ceiling, staring down at two people. Jameson was crouching over a dark haired, lanky boy, who was slumped against the hardwood floor. _That's me_, I realized numbly. 

Jameson was shaking my body vigorously, shouting my name over and over. I wasn't too sure if I wanted to go back; however, I did draw closer to stare at my own face. I only knew the general description of it from an old painting, and that was years ago, when I was a little kid. 

I was pretty good looking, I decided. I mean, perhaps I looked a little more feminine than most guys do, but I wasn't a total transvestite. My eyelashes were slightly longer, but I wore it well. I was thin and not very muscular, but I was taller than more boys my age were; even though I was lying down you could tell my height. 

I felt a pull towards my body. It was roping me back in! I couldn't fight it off: it was like gravity. My spirit zoomed back into its corporeal form. 

"Alexander! Wake up!" 

I felt a sharp smack against my face and groaned. My vision was blurry and made Jameson look like a smudge. I sat up, rubbing my eyes. "What happened?" 

"You fainted dead away like a little old lady, that's what." Jameson stood, towering above me, crossing his arms. 

"Sorry," I said. I brushed off some dust from my shirt. 

He gave me a worried look. "Do you think you're having heart problems again?" 

"No." I pressed my hand over my chest anyway, a knee-jerk reaction. I'd had a small issue back in the past with asthma and heart problems. I hadn't come across any attacks for years. 

"It's the stress. Take a seat." He gestured towards the bed, which I gratefully flopped on. The springs creaked loudly. 

Jameson started folding socks, separating the navy blue from the grey carefully, because different colored socks touching each other made him wig out. I stared at him, thinking. 

There was no way in hell that I was going to leave Raven forever. I'd never be able to live with that; I might actually attempt suicide, and this time not get "saved." And as I remembered her sweet face, I knew that it would devastate her, too.

Or would it? I mean, she just found out her boyfriend was a vampire—she might want to get rid of me anyway. Dating a monster did have drawbacks. I'd never be able to take pictures with her; I couldn't go to the amusement park on a hot summer day with her and her family; I could be dead to the world when she really needed me. And in spite of that, I wouldn't want to leave her. I was way too selfish. 

I felt a spurt of anger towards Jagger for making it come to this in the first place. So what if I didn't want to damn his sister to our lifestyle? Did I deserve the death sentence for that? If only he was here right now, I'd give him a piece of my mind. I'd send him packing to Romania. I'd show him that Art Boy had more bite than he thought.

And just like that, I got an idea.

"Jameson," I said excitedly.

He looked up from his obsessive sock folding and waited.

"I have a plan. We won't need to go to Romania."

"Darn," he muttered, shooting me a dirty look. "You enjoy toying with my love of the mother country, don't you?"

I smiled. "A little. But my plan is pretty good."

"Than pray tell, what is it?"

"We can leave Dullsville for the next town over. We can bring only the bare necessities with us."

"The next town over . . . ," he said slowly. "But that's where—!"

"Yes, that's where Jagger is. I want to head him off and confront him before he gets here. If he gets to Dullsville and sees me with Raven, he could go after her." I cringed. Guilt washed over me; I couldn't believe I was dragging her into the feud like this. She didn't deserve to be plagued with this problem.

Jameson got a weird expression on his face, something mingling between realization and horror. "You're right! If we don't leave, Ruby could. . . ." He bit his lip.

My butler understood the burden of love. We had to leave Dullsville for their sakes; we had to bite this problem in the neck for good or else it would always be a problem looming over our heads.

I stood up, my decision sound. "I'm going to pack my bags," I informed him softly, "and then we are going to go to Rivethead, the next town away. I want you to contact someone there who has a list of abandoned houses."

"Abandoned houses?" He gave me a confused look. "Why not go to the Coffin Club?"

Ah, the Coffin Club. A haven in Rivethead for vampires and Goths alike. They sold really classy blood types, fusion drinks, fake fangs and more. The décor was supposed to be amazingly dark and dangerous, aside from the lit up dance floor. And the people were awesomely diverse from most of society. The music was supposed to be hand-bangingly fantastic.

Unfortunately, I knew Jagger enough to know that he would make a bee line straight to this oasis.

I pouted a little. Jameson knew I wanted to go; but there was a little problem aside from my suspicion about Jagger. It was a similar problem with my passport—I needed to take a picture for ID. And since vampires don't have the ability to do so, that posed as a problem. I resorted to my parents' mind control abilities to get around. I hadn't been able to get taught anything like that yet; Jameson would have to, if anything, but I was guessing that would be difficult since he wasn't technically a vampire.

"No, not the Coffin Club. Jagger is probably taking residence there, since they're vampire-friendly."

"Oh, that's right," Jameson agreed.

"I'll find him and end this; I just need to strengthen my mental defenses. I'd appreciate it if you could teach me."

"I'll do my best."

"Alright. I'm going to pack." I got up and stopped, my hand on the door frame. "Jameson?"

"Yes?" He sounded harried.

"You're going to miss your date with Ruby." I left the room, my butler swearing colorfully behind me about trickery and little demons.

The attic stairs creaked under my feet, chorusing along with the howling wind against the shutters. Even the door seemed extra-squeaky. Maybe this house knew that this was the next to last night we'd be living here; I had only five hours or so before dropping, so the move would need to wait until tomorrow night. Still . . . I couldn't believe it. I'd escaped to Dullsville as a way to protect from my enemies the most precious thing to me—my family—and now I had to leave a town that I had hated to protect my newest addition to my priorities.

I retrieved my Slipknot travel bag that I had stuffed under my mattress so I could have a little more room and collected my clean clothes together. The process was long and boring, but I was used to it—one of the perks of being an art dealer's son.

My complete collection of Anne Rice that I had so long ago packed was stuffed into the bag rather roughly. In went my CDs—the Cruxshadows, the Dreaming, Bloody Mary, James D. Stark—and my lucky black rabbit's foot that I had gotten in Ireland. Since I didn't need my passport, I threw it under the bed; a corner of the booklet poked out from under the mattress.

After a while, I looked around. Nearly everything was gone; my clothes were in my bag, my books and CDs were in it and my earrings and chains were safely secured.

But something was missing. I rooted through my desk drawers and messed the organization up until I found it at the bottom, smiling at me. I picked up the black spider ring and slipped it on my left index finger. It looked like an unorthodox marriage ring.

I sat down on my bed and stared at it, holding my hand out in front of me. It was a symbol of all I had been through with Raven—slightly juvenile, insanely wacky, pretty eccentric, and with a flare of abnormality—and I was going to hold it to my heart all the time I was away.

I looked at my watch in the darkness. Okay, I had only three hours left now. My eyes assessed my room wearily. I'd have to take m art. There was no way in hell that I was going to leave any of it. My thoughts became concrete when I looked at my latest and greatest creation.

Gingerly, I took my portraits down and set them individually on my bed. I'd have Jameson take care of them later, I reasoned. I rescued the paintings that lined the halls as well, leaving behind a rather grotesque picture of medieval torturing where it was meant to be—under the stairs in the crawlspace.

With my paintings piled high in my bedroom, I tackled the food issue. I opened several Tupperware containers and dumped any available food in them. The boxes of blood were taken as well, in the cooler. This process took over two hours to complete.

Only one hour to go before going to sleep. I tried to think of something I may have forgotten to pack; I'd already packed candles and matches for lighting. When I knew that everything satisfactory had been packed by either me or Jameson, I went back upstairs and changed into black lounge pants.

The floor felt cold against my bare feet as I entered my lonely hiding place. My solitary black coffin that was surrounded by the ring of Romanian dirt greeted me, invited me into its silken interior.

I sank into the cushiony lining and pulled the black duvet over my chin. The room glowed with the light of the candle on top of my nightstand. My eyes glanced at it, and I smiled. Because next to the candle was my portrait of Raven, grinning at me.

I sighed, content. Sometimes, being in the dark was okay when you were with someone you loved.

My heart ached horribly. Now, if only I wasn't going to take off tomorrow without that person, I'd be better than okay. _This is for your sake, Raven, _I told myself.

I fell asleep to nightmares.


	25. Because I Love You

Chapter 25: Because I Love You

**Chapter 25: Because I Love You**

**J**ameson was down the road, waiting for me impatiently in the crammed Mercedes. I had flown back to the Mansion despite his protests (the car was in motion when I leapt out of the window) and was currently perched upside down on the cold iron gate.

We had locked up the house; the doors were padlocked, the gate was sealed firmly shut. We had even put sheets on the furniture. By the time we were done, the Mansion resembled a ghost of its former self. Everything was there, but so distant. It even felt more haunted then usual, what with the drafty halls and dusty rooms. It looked as if we had been moved out for ages.

Several other bats—one of which the tiny one that I had met so long ago—were chattering in a nearby pine tree. Some nonsense about how a bat named Slasher had attacked a blond boy. _Trevor?_ I wondered. I felt my bat lips curl up a little.

I heard heavy boots thudding against pavement and looked over to the sidewalk anxiously. Just as I had suspected, Raven was running to the Mansion, a frantic look on her face that sent a spasm of pain to my chest.

The lock on her gate didn't deter her, though—she climbed the ironwork with ease. I flew off in a safer area—the tree in which the noisy bats were—and observed in anguish as she rang the bell repeatedly, her desperation increasing. When no one answered the door, she rapped on it with the serpent knocker as a second resort. She backed away slowly from the front door after realizing that it was a lost cause.

I wanted so badly to rush to her, to transform back into a boy who could embrace her in his arms again, to comfort her. I wanted to explain everything; and at the same time, I wanted to take off to the Mercedes as fast as I could.

Raven looked into the living room window half-hopefully. Her shoulders slumped a little when she saw the white sheets. She raced out to the back, to the basement window.

I knew that she had used it to enter the Mansion before; I remembered how Jameson had said the basement door was open that night. I also remembered how much my grandmother had complained about a window that didn't shut properly. I had put two and two together, and . . . yes, I'd been right. Raven ran to the gate, a black envelope in her hand.

I had placed a letter for her to read near the basement window as soon as I had woken up this evening. I had tried to keep it simple, hoping that she'd be able to understand the words, despite the fact that there were only a few of them.

She held it under the street lamp beside the gate and opened it with quick fingers. A black card slid out onto her open hand, and she smoothed it out. Even from my perch, I could see the blood red letters glinting in the lamplight.

_**Because I love you.**_

Raven touched the words with her fingertips as if she was grasping for an explanation from me. More of a goodbye, more feeling.

I'd been too afraid to say anything more then that, because it could have been made false—I couldn't say "I'll be back," because the truth was, I might _not_. I couldn't say that I was a vampire all along and explain my life because it might wind up in the wrong hands. All I could write were those four words.

I heard her sniffle. Raven slunk against the gates, her faces streaked with tears that glistened in the dim lighting.

Another spasm of pain hit me. Why couldn't I go without breaking a person's heart?

Before I could stop myself, I flitted to the iron gate just above her. I gave a little chirp to get her attention. She looked up, locking her deep eyes with mine.

They say that only soul mates can breathe and be one with another just by a simple glance. That they had such a strong connection, no amount of distance, time or impossibilities could truly rip them apart. For that moment, when I looked into her beautiful irises, I felt a tranquility—even when I had no right to be. It didn't make any sense, but then again, isn't that love?

Her hand slowly reached out to me. "Alexander?" she whispered.

I think that's when I realized that I couldn't take seeing her pain any more. I took off, back to my life in the darkness, to save the lie that I held most precious.

I was half-tempted to fly past the car and keep going until I reached an isolated area, but Jameson spotted me and honked. Unable to flap away unnoticed, I landed gently in the backseat and transformed.

There was a stoplight burning red above us. It emphasized the small droplets of rain on the windshield that were sliding down the glass. The radio was a soft background hum, barely audible. My ears pricked, trying to focus on it in order to think of anything else other then what had just transpired; it was nearly impossible.

"Hey," Jameson said. I didn't even bother looking at him. Instead, I leaned my forehead against the cool window and breathed in through the nose calmly. I recognized the soft tune, now; "Hero Heroine," by Boys Like Girls. My eyes opened slightly.

The light flashed bright green, and the car rumbled smoothly down the damp street. cookie cutter houses flew away behind us, the lights coming from within the dwellings inviting, warm. We were leaving the picture perfect town at last.

"So, will you miss it?" Jameson tried again. His fingers drummed lethargically against the steering wheel.

I just stared blankly at the window, willing the music to rise and drown everything out.

He didn't get the message. "I'll miss it," he went on, "The places, the Mansion . . . even the people."

"Jameson?" I asked bitterly.

"Yes?"

"Shut up."

He finally saw the tears in my eyes and obliged. Instead of talking, he turned the music up, focusing back on the winding turns.

I remember seeing the sign informing us we were out of Dullsville through the rain and my drowsiness. It could have been my imagination, though; because I could have sworn that Jameson said something just before I fell asleep.

"It isn't an ending, you know. It's a beginning."

It may have been because I was half-conscious and slightly emotionally unsound, but I couldn't help but agree with him.

After all, sometimes the death of one thing is the birth of something new. Something better.

**The end**


	26. author's note part two

_Well, all good things must come to an end._ _**Starlight"**__ was my first ever fanfiction and it's the dearest to my heart because of that. I ended up sympathizing with Alexander and pretty much detesting Raven by the end of this. And the irony of this is that my screen name is "RavenMadisonfan." Just go and dump her sorry butt, Alexander! You deserve much better. _

_This story was started in January, 2007, I believe. –whistles- I can't believe it took so long! I'm so proud, and yet so sad to see it done and over with. _

_I'd like to dedicate this fanfiction to all people who have ever felt like outsiders and found someone who could love a monster. I found several of them upon reading and writing this, actually; it's all thanks to Alexander that I found my inner-self and found peace along with it. Psycho-chan, Paulomy and all my friends who encouraged me the most throughout this book, you rock!! _

_Stay tuned for the sequel—__**"Kissing Coffins: Shadows."**_

_**Alexander Sterling thought that the vampire feud was over. He was dead wrong. Jagger Maxwell is back with bite! What happens when he threatens the girl Alexander loves? Will Raven become a vampire and join the Damned?**_


End file.
